An update on the state of my underpants, among other things.

Thanks to Seattle John, I was reading through my archives yesterday and realized that I am really slacking here. If this were a performance review, I'd be getting the "you're just not applying yourself" and "If you didn't drink so much on the job maybe you'd be better at it" speeches from Bob Grumblewort, the Assistant Supervisory Supervisor for Worldly Interesting Posting Eyeballing, or as I like to call him- ASSWIPE. He would demote me to proofreading Cat Blogs and my pay would be reduced from "nothing" to "you owe us one bag of skittles, two pairs of only slightly worn underpants, and we reserve the right to harvest your organs at any time". They'd take away my parking priveleges and make me roller-skate to work on gravel roads.

So, I guess I owe you an explanation of why I've been m.i.a.- not because you care or anything, but because I saw a picture of myself on the side of a milk carton today and I figure I should come forth with the information as to my whereabouts and claim the reward. On a side note, to whomever gave them the picture of me wearing the bottom half of a suit of armor and a tube top while getting a foot massage from those siamese midgets- the least you could have done was airbrush the pic so I didn't look so "blotchy." You know that I don't photograph well in bright sunlight.

So you all know we adopted a 2 year-old boy. The adoption agency told us he was a little "doggy", which really- is that necessary? Just because he's a little hairy, smells like kibble and likes to poo outside is no reason to call people names.

While I love him more than I love my own ovaries, this has proven to be a time-consuming endeavor. In-between trips outside to pee on fire hydrants, playing with fuzzy toys and licking butts, I've had to find time to take care of the dog too.

Things I've learned so far:

• Cats aren't crazy about dogs.
• Boy dogs aren't always crazy about human boys (Bubs is shy and apprehensive around the Mister- I think he can sense another wiener in the room and it confuses him)
  
• Baby gates are useful things when you first get a dog, a fact that we didn't figure out until two days in and two very pissed off felines later.
  
• My cats will forgive me eventually.
• The look of pure joy that Bubs gets on his face when he looks up at me makes my cold hard heart melt a little every time.
  
• Bubs snores, talks in his sleep, and farts a lot.
  

Also on the list of "why I haven't had time to take pictures of myself wearing sad/funny/scary stuff":

• My older sister from CA was in town- wine was guzzled, hangovers were had, chippy things were consumed, and cackling/giggling abounded. She just turned 40, a fact that I find more horrifying than my own turning 38. One minute we were fighting over which member of Duran Duran was "ours" and who used the last of the Aqua Net on our big-assed hair, the next minute we're going gray, complaining about our various aches and pains, and choosing shoes for "comfort" rather than "awesomeness".
  
• My younger sister moved back from India, where she has been living for a few years. She came back plus new tattoos and great silk clothes, but minus one husband. I think this was a good trade-off.
  
• I spend about 3-4 hours each day apologizing to the cats and providing much-needed therapy for them. After some intensive work, I have learned that Pooter has Daddy issues, and Troubleman often has dreams where he is sitting in algebra class naked.
• I've been riding my bike, Dirk, a lot these days. We are in the "Pre-hotter than Satan's taint" phase of late spring/early summer, so I need to get outside while I still can.
• I've been cooking/been in the kitchen a lot. A few examples:
  

Butter lettuce salad with cider vinaigrette, red onion, fresh thyme, apples & aged cheddar

Spicy sesame-soy wild-caught salmon on braised kale and scallion quinoa with melty onions


More rhubarb cocktails- rhubarb mojitos!

• Also (in no particular order): A little work, gardening, collecting hairballs around the house for my wig project, reading, sleeping, drinking wine, shopping, daydreaming about Clive Owen, getting hot & bothered, shopping some more, making cookies, staring at my toes, ignoring piles of stuff around the house, occasionally bathing, experimenting with over-the-counter antihistimines in the alley, collecting used kleenexes, plucking stray hairs and getting lost in the internets.
  

I promise I won't leave y'all alone like this again without a babysitter- don't think I haven't noticed that the liquor cabinet is empty and the neighbors aren't speaking to me. You're grounded! Or I am. I'm confused. Whatever.

Happy Wednesday (it is Wednesday, right?), my minty-fresh, rhubarb-scented dog turds. Happy Wednesday.

XO

Why my cats are plotting my demise

Meet Bubbles Percival Sniffinbottom, Esq:

Or, as we like to call him- "Bubs".

Busy, much like the beavers of yore.

Sorry I've been m.i.a, but I've had my older sister from CA in town this week, and those bottles of wine just can't drink themselves, you know. We've had a great time so far, mostly just sitting around, eating, drinking and catching up. My little sister has just moved back from India as well, so for the first time in a long time, we all got to hang out together. If you smelled Aveda in the air and heard the faint sound of females snorting and giggling this week and didn't know why, well that was just us disrupting the Universe again.



More on this later, as I have to go as I have a final loop to jump through before we get this little dude at 4:00 today:


OUR NEW DOGGIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He doesn't really have a name, so I'll let you know what it is when we decide. I am in deep, deep love with this little ball of mutty, snuggly goodness.

On a side note: does anyone know a good cat therapist? I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to need one soon...

Happy Friday, my long-weekend-enjoying balls of canine goodness. Happy Friday.

XO

What's that smell? Are you cooking bacon again?

Things I cooked this weekend:

My Fucking Awesome chocolate chip cookies-


My Mac & Cheez, or as I like to call it, "Crack n' Cheez" cause it's so stinking addictive-


Homemade pizza with spinach/jalapeno pesto, black beans, corn, peppers, spicy sausage, monterey jack & goat cheese (this is the "before", as usual I forgot the "after")-


And my summer specialty, "crispy epidermis a la sunshine sans sunscreen"-


Ouch.

(It looks/feels much worse in person, trust me.)

XO

Things that have been shoved through my mail-hole lately

I've got a fairly busy/fun weekend ahead of me: helping a friend with a garage sale (that I'm totally excited about- I'll bring my camera to photograph strangers), tickets so Steven Wright(!) tomorrow night, hopefully some hot eggs-on-bacon action for Sunday brunch, and misc. projects around the house.
So, as a quickie post, I'll show you some of the lovely love that I have had the pleasure of having my supermodel mailman shove into my mail-hole in the past few weeks. Sure, he's quick, shoves it in without so much as a hello, and he leaves immediately after, but I can always say that my mailman leaves me satisfied. And by "satisfied" I mean "leaves me lots of cool loot".

First up- CHEESE!!

My Seattle boy, John, a fellow member of the 12-step program for curdified dairy products, sent me some cheese, glorious cheese for my bee-day. This is the second time I have had the pleasure of coming home from work and seeing that the cheese fairy had arrived. Aged (and SUPER good) Scottish (not to be confused with Irish) cheddar, smooshy & delicious goat, and three samples- an amazing cheddar, Morbier (one of my all-time favorites) and stilton that I haven't tried yet.


My Nevada pal, T.J. sent me another big box of fun a while back, full of all sorts of goodness that made me so very happy. He also sent me my prize in the first annual "Ren & Stimpy obscure quotes" contest. I believe I was the only entrant, but I still felt proud that my "cling tenatiously to my buttocks" quote didn't go unnoticed. My prize? A super-awesome Ren & Stimpy watch that my students were very jealous of when I wore it to work:


The other WM in my life, the ebony to my ivory, the Chuck D. to my Flavor Flav, the flourescent orange cheese to my tortilla chips, sent me a giant box of happiness full of toys, monkeys, and band-aids for when I handle cutlery whilst drunkety drunk drunk.


The bacon floss left my mouth porkiliciously fresh and smoky...mmmm!!


The "bling" band-aids brought out my inner gangsta rapper- "MC Mixmaster Twatardo":

Word.

She remembered that I prefer my eyewear to be cutting edge, modern, and always keeping up with the latest in "grandma chic", but thought that in my old age I might need a pair that's a bit...bigger:


Hopefully someday the doctors can help me with my condition- the highly contagious "bipolar lazy eye":

A (long) while back, the artist currently known as Evil Genius sent me an envelope full of all sorts of stuff, including chocolate, a CD, fun DC memorabilia, and a lock of his hair:

Little does he know that I'm using it for my voodoo spells...

He also sent me an Obama magnet, and I thought I should show him that it's on my fridge- Elvis, Wonder Woman and the Pope are keeping him company.

I know I owe a few other thank-yous to a few other folks- I just want to properly document them, so give me a day or two. Hell, I've been an ungrateful beyotch this long, what's a little longer?

Go out and do something fun this weekend, my banana-flavored wads of used dental floss.

Happy Friday.

XO

Pomp, circumstance, and the Buffalo House Bar & Grill.

Sooooo...

My (ahem) 20-year reunion is coming up this summer.

I'm dropping the envelope in the mail today with my check for $25 (yes, the dinner Saturday night really is going to cost just $25- we aren't exactly the fanciest folks), but I'm not sure that I'm actually going to go.

I went to a small school (my graduating class hovered around 60-70 people), so we all actually know one another, and Facebook has recently turned into a mini-reunion of sorts. I am now "friends" with about half of my class, including my sixth grade boyfriend and one of the guys that drunkenly agreed to be spanked at the 10-year. Good times.

The thing is, I went to my 10 and 15-year reunions and holy hell, they were FUN. Both times, we all hung out at one of the local bars (you know, the ones where the divorced teachers from high school hang out at, occasionally hitting on former students, thereby ending up as conversational fodder for us at the reunions and completing the circle of life?), got wasted and whooped it up. Minor nudity, karaoke, kissing, gossip and late-night food at a truck stop may or may not have been involved. No arrests were made, and no one went to the ER, so they both were a resounding success.

But I'm not sure about this one. For one thing, the very act of going acknowledges that I am old enough to be going to my 20-freaking-year reunion. Yuk. I don't feel that old and I don't think I look that old, so why rub my own nose in it? Jesus, I now regularly have students that were born in 1989, never mind that I had already said goodbye to my virginity, totaled a car, smoked my first doobie, committed several John Hughes movies to memory, and officially "became an adult" by that date. I feel like this would be the starting point where we begin marking our time spent together by how many divorces, illnesses, deaths and bankruptcies have passed since we last met. Kind of like my having a conversation with my grandparents, minus the guilt.

But, maybe...

...it could be fun. At the very least I'd get a doozy of a blog post about it, right? Hmmm...I wonder if we could get anyone to take off their pants?

It's next month- I'll keep you posted.

Happy Thursday, my monkey charm school graduates. Happy Thursday.

XO

Kiss my grits!

Because I know that you all like food porn almost as much as Britney likes Cheetos, here's what I made for dinner last night:

Grits with bacon, scallion, roast corn and goat cheese with herbed turkey meatballs and tomato sauce with smoked paprika.

This was good. Like lick the plate clean good. Like lick the kitchen counter good. Like pushing the Mr. out of the way and eating his, then running to the kitchen and snarfing the leftovers before he can good.

I also made roasted green beans with lemon olive oil and sea salt, but didn't take a picture- sorry.

Trouble tried to help me with dinner, but his lack of thumbs and propensity for shedding made it somewhat difficult.

Yes, that's a box of wine in there. Shut up.

Happy Monday, my succulent morsels of mayonnaise-coated cat food. Happy Monday.

XO

Marie Ellen

It seems my Mom was always a mother.
The woman I only knew as "Mom" and nothing else seemed as if she had been born into the role, that it had been pre-determined through some cosmic game of roulette. In my mind, she was always a grown-up, always taking care of us, and always wearing polyester pants and shoes with no socks (I guess I know where I get my disdain for socks from). In my mind, she dropped to this earth and landed in our house just in time to whip up a batch of chicken & dumpling soup.

Her mother, Ellen (pictured above with Grandpa "Joe"), died suddenly at a young age, leaving her devoted and hard-working full-blooded German husband to care for all four of their young children himself. My mother, being the oldest, was quickly thrust into the role of the "woman of the house" as she was the only female as well. She learned how to run a busy household in her early teens- cooking many of the family meals, cleaning the large 2-story house, doing laundry and such, all the while going to school and trying to lead the "normal" life of a pre-teen/teen.

Grandpa never remarried, though from stories I've heard there were plenty of women trying to catch him in their lady-nets. He was charming, intelligent, honest and witty as hell. His thick accent and straightforward manner let you know that what you saw was what you got with him. No bullshit. That trait, one I admire and seem to have inherited, carried over to all four of his children, including my Mom. In my teens, my Mom's seemingly nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter was the source of endless embarrassment and entertainment. You never knew what she was going to say, usually too loudly and often followed up with her infectious laugh.


She and my Dad grew up near each other- my Dad lived off of one side of Raleigh Street in West Duluth, my Mom grew up off of the other side. They shared many of the same friends and by default, much of the same history. It just made sense for them, in a time where nearly everyone got married, settled down & had kids right out of high school, to get married, settle down & have kids right out of high school.
Then Vietnam happened, and my Dad went off for what was his first tour of duty, leaving my Mom behind to finish her last year of high school and wait for him to come back.

Luckily, she had a great support network: several close girlfriends, her brothers, her future in-laws, and my Dad's three brothers and one sister. The picture above is my Mom and my (also deceased) uncle Iver going to prom. I don't know the whole story, but I believe that Iver took her to prom because he was "safe". My Dad didn't want her going with just any guy (especially one certain guy who was very good-looking and had his eye on my Mom, I would later learn), so his closest brother was her date. My Mom & Iver were good friends anyways, and he was funny as hell so she ended up having a good time after all.

Dad made it back, they got married, then came the kids. She didn't really think about other "options" for her life. I don't think that (at the time, anyways) College ever crossed her mind- it was time to grow up and do what you're supposed to do- set up house, fill the house with kids, live happily ever after. Later on, she would tell me that, though she loved us girls dearly and couldn't imagine her life without us, she sometimes wished that she had been given more choices for her life. She said that she never felt that there were any other options, and she was so very, very glad that we, her daughters, had nearly limitless potential for our lives. I think about her saying this often- I hope I've lived up to what she would have wanted for me.


It's been almost 18 years since she died, but I still think of her almost every day. I miss her bright hazel eyes and freakishly perfect fingernails. I miss how she sometimes cussed like a longshoreman, but would never, ever drop the f-bomb. I miss how one glass of wine made her goofy. I miss how she'd just barge into the bathroom and pee while we'd be primping at the mirror, talking to us about our day the whole time. I miss her sometimes misguided attempts at "ethnic" cooking.

Mostly, though, I miss her unfailing devotion to her girls, her family. No matter how goofy we'd dress, how moody and PMS-y we were, or what ingrates we could be, she was always, always on our side- ready to defend us or knock some much-needed sense into our noggins. She kept us humble and she was our biggest cheerleader. She was a pretty cool broad.

Since it's Mother's Day, I guess I was just thinking about mine...

"Pride" and "dignity" are such ugly words...

You all know Gwennie by now- my internet wife with whom I pretended to poop on things when I visited her in March. I love her, I would walk through a snowstorm naked to go to the convenience store if she needed smokes and some coke to mix with the Jack Daniel's, if she asked.

Gwen posted about an article of clothing she has, a pajama top, that she keeps around, loves and still wears despite it being tattered, worn and faded. She then asked the rest of us to post pics of clothing we either:

a) Keep around even though it's falling apart because it has sentimental value

b) Keep around because we are clinging to our sad and misspent youth

or,

c) All of the above.

Being the overachiever that I am (and by "overachiever" I mean doing as little as possible actual thinking for a blog post as I need to), I found four such items at Casa de VonPartypants. I'm sure there are even more, but it is before noon and I really don't function until I've had my lunch cocktail.

Item #1-
My sister gave me this cashmere hoodie probably 7-8 years ago, and I think I pretty much wore it every day after that. It's thick, soft (that's what SHE said!), and I could throw it on for just mucking about the house or running errands. That being said, the old girl sure has seen better days. Lately she's looking like an aging hooker- still pretty functional, but the holes are bigger now:

Item #2-
I found this shirt at a thrift store in Duluth, and kind of bought it as a joke. It has the name of my hometown on it, and it is very "sporty". I can say without a doubt that hometown pride and sports were pretty much at the bottom of my list of things I'd be interested in as me, circa 1976-1989, when I was living there. I've had this for probably close to 8 years, and at one point I thought it would be cool to cut it into a v-neck to show off my bosoms:

Item #3-
These are something that I'll probably keep forever, even though I'll likely never wear them again- my Doc Marten boots that I bought at Saint Sabrina's in 1990. As you can tell, I loved the crap out of these things. I wore them with skirts, jeans, and of course- jean shorts:

Item #4-
This one is the icing on the cake of sad, sad things I hold onto in an effort to cling to my youth. I try and I try, but I can't bring myself to throw these away, yet I wouldn't (and shouldn't) ever wear them to anything but the "Hee-Haw County Shit-flingin' Festival". I am ashamed and horrified to present these to y'all- Levi's jean shorts that started as jeans, graduated into cropped jeans, then retired as cutoffs:

And since I know how much you all love to see me dress up in retarded outfits that make me look like an ass, I decided to try the whole shebang on together for your viewing pleasure. The shorts are about a size 0.5 and I will have you know that I had to lay down to get them on and that I could not breathe the entire time I was taking this lest they explode off my bum and hurt one of the cats with the schrapnel:
Aaaaannnnddd...

You're welcome, Gwen.

Happy Thursday, my skin-tight articles of sad clothing. Happy Thursday.

XO

Jameson: it's not just for breakfast anymore.

A belated weekend recap, now in new and improved bullet form! (new and improved form not valid in Idaho, Nebraska and Montana. New and improved bullet form subject to state sales tax in Wisconsin and Texas):

• Friday night I had to work, so my night pretty much consisted of: go home, drink wine, wish I had the energy to do stuff, drink more wine, TV, and sleep.
  
• I spent Saturday morning frantically cleaning the house, as my girlies were coming to town and I wanted to fool them into thinking that I don't normally live in conditions similar to those found in your average crack den. Ha! Fooled them!
• Once my twatmonkeys arrived, and since we are fast approaching the age where appliqued sweatshirts might seem like a good wardrobe choice, we went to a craft fair. Sadly, there weren't any of these. Or these. All I bought was a t-shirt, which is currently in the washing machine.
  
• We were celebrating both mine & my girl Waffle's b-days, so we opened gifties before we went to dinner. Holy hell, did I rake it in. These girls are awesome. Tons of Aveda, makeup, a cool lift bridge charm for a necklace, Jesus dieting magnets, a TJMaxx gift card, lovely white serving pieces that I needed, the most coolest, awesomest book EVER, a great black kitty tee from Benetton, and the Mr. got me (among other things) my own adopted monkey. I'll tell you more about her later.
  
• Dinner was at Wasabi- good, not great. It was loud and our table was really uncomfortable to sit at. The sushi was good, the drinks were strong, overall I'd give it a B.
• After dinner, we went to the Fine Line where Blondie's man was working and he got us on the guest list for a CD release party. The Invincible Kids were playing- this was my 2nd time seeing them and I have to say I really like them. So it Goes was also playing- they're good too. Our arrival at the Fine Line marked the point in the night where the gloves came off and we started sucking down the booze at near-olympic speed.
  
• We were joined by two cute boys we know- one gay, one not- started dancing and started our rapid descent into alcoholic retardation.

• After bar close, we all went back to my house, drank way too much Jameson, showed each other our boobies, danced in our jammies, woke up the Mr., broke glassware, spilled things, and eventually woke up with hangovers that made us wish we no longer had heads or bellies. It was the sort of hangover that even breakfast and mimosas at Luce couldn't cure. It was the sort of hangover that rendered us unable to use our hands or form coherent words for two days. It was the sort of hangover that forced us to ask the question at brunch (in-between discussing keeping shit in a jar and face-fucking)- "what the hell is wrong with us and the people we know?"
• Overall, a great goddamn weekend.
  

Happy Wednesday, my whiskey-soaked, topless garden gnomes. Happy Wednesday.

XO
.

A quick review:

Comparing baked Nacho cheese Doritos to regular Nacho cheese Doritos is like comparing winning a $5 coupon for Applebee's (only valid M-F from 5-9:00 on selected menu items not including mozzarella stix or the tingly wingly chicken wing trio) to dining for free for the rest of your life at Cafe Most Awesome Restaurant In The World That Only Serves Stuff You Love And Is Open 24 Hours.

In other words, not a good substitute at ALL.

You're welcome.

When life hands you lemons, send them back and demand cake.

You know what?

Fuck it- I don't want today to be about bad stuff. It's 70+ degrees, I went for a great bike ride, and the dark cloud looming over today has dissipated a bit. Plus, considering that I'm 38, love snack foods and wine as much as any human can, often stay up too late, incessantly pick at imagined things on my face, don't always wear sunscreen when I should, and sometimes my only exercise is trying to use the remote with my toes...

...I think I'm holding up pretty darn good.

Now, dammit- I want some cake.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about my weekend and all the debauchery involved (including, but not limited to: nudity, dirty talk & whiskey).

Oh, and I adopted a monkey.

Happy my birthday, my little morsels of cakey, buttercreamy goodness. Happy my birthday.

XOXO

Yup.

I don't remember what it was I was wishing for when this picture was taken- I'm guessing it probably was a cool new terrycloth shirt, a menstrual cycle, or my own pair of roller skates.

What I do remember is being excited about my birthday for probably a good month before it happened. What would I get? Who would I invite to my slumber party? Will I feel any older? When are my boobies finally going to grow?

For a number of reasons I'll tell you about someday when all of it is finally something I can talk about in the past tense, I really wasn't too excited for the big day this year. This last year has been a bit of a roller coaster, and the last few months in particular have been fairly challenging and soul-sucking for me. Getting older on top of it all just kind of seems unnecessarily cruel.

I have to do something today that promises to take my soul, crumple it into a ball, then toss it out of a 13th story window to the street below. It's something I can't avoid- it has to be done.
Such is life. Sorry to be so cryptic, but I just can't lie and say that I'm excited or happy about today when I have such a big pile of shit on my plate where cake should be.

But honestly, I feel strangely optimistic today. I'll be fine, I'm not sitting here crying my eyes out. I'm not depressed, I'm not leaving you all or anything.

Do me a favor- have some cake for me today- it makes me happy when you have cake. OK?
I'll be back tomorrow- happier, and (hopefully) a wee bit relieved.

XO

The one where I realize why it is I identify with Blanche from the "Golden Girls" so much.

True (sadly, but yes. Actually happened today) story...

Today I was talking to a student. Not a direct student of mine, mind you, but a student whom I have had much contact with and whose ADHD and overall, well...oddness I have become familiar with. I actually really like him and (ahem) appreciate his honesty...


...normally.


Student: (totally out of the blue) "Have you been getting enough sleep lately?"

Me: (caught off guard) Um...yes. Why do you ask?

Student: "Well, it's just that you have those really dark circles under your eyes. You look like you need some sleep."

Me: (thinking) ("Got to hell. I look awesome!!!!!): (In reality): "Um, yeah. My allergies are bad right now and I've been rubbing my eyes a lot..."

Student: Yeah, you look worn out. (smiles)

Me (thinking): "Hello, 38! Now kindly go and fuck yourself! Thank you!" "Yeah, I probably could use some sleep. Um, I think I'm fine now and I don't need any more help. YOU CAN GO HOME NOW.

Student: "Oh! Sure- OK, fine. See you Monday!" (smiles, leaves. Like a douchebag.)

Goddammit.

38 is the new 21, right???

RIGHT???

Whatever. Anyone seen my walker? What about my support hose? Who has that ribbon candy I like so much????????

FUCK.


(Less than THREE days until International Whiskeymarie Day!! Can you stand it?? Are you excited???!??? No, I don't give a shit either. Thank you for putting that out there. No, really- thank you. That bitch is WAAAAYYYYY too self absorbed. In fact, I saw her last week at the grocery store, sticking her tongue down that checkout guy's throat- You know! The one that looks like Jay-Z, and now she's all "look at me, I'm Beyonce...beyotches!!!"
Bitch needs some humbling, is all I'm sayin...)
(What the hell was I saying?)
(Oh yeah, Whiskeymarie Day)
(Whatever. Bitch'll be so drunk she won't notice.)
(Dress like a squirrel, who cares. Weirdos.)
.
XO