Thursday, July 30, 2009

Similar to a weekend spent on the French Riviera, minus the "French" and "Riviera" parts, but with the bonus of dog vomit and beer in a can.

A brief update on all things Whiskeymarie, in bullet points so you don't get confused like you did last time and end up lost on the side of the freeway wearing nothing but a stained snowsuit and high heels again:
  • I was in Duluth this weekend, and Friday night I had another fun, blurry, intentional meet-up with Christa and the lovely JCrew again. We have all agreed that next time we meet, we will behave like sensible adults and have a refined tea party with biscuits and such while discussing bustles and parasols instead of swimming the sea of beer and circus folk that is RT Quinlan's bar:

  • Saturday I spent about 14 hours at my in-laws while the Mr. and his brother installed a fancy new TeeVee and some Netflix thingy. I had exactly nothing to do but sit, stare at Bubs, and make periodic tours through the kitchen to grab something cheesy or crackery. In my boredom I may or may not have stared at my toes for too long and wished that I had a hyperactive, one-armed monkey to pass the time with.
  • Saturday night, the Mr, my girl Waffle and I went out to dinner at a Chinese-ish restaurant in a Bowling alley. Yup- you read that right. When you dine with WM it's class all the way, baby. It was actually really good, despite the lack of little details like a glass or straw for Waffle's can of coke or a non-plastic cup for the Mr's cocktail. After dinner, Waffle wanted to check out the band that was playing outside of the bowling alley. Being that I was still marginally hungover and not giving a shit what we did, we ventured outside. I comissioned the world-renowned artist Pickles St. Bumhummer to do a rendering of the lead singer of the "band" (whose repertoire consisted of things like Bryan Adams, Van Morrison, and Poison covers). Imagine the rest of the "band" in similar attire and I think you get the drift of things:

  • One can of light beer later, Waffle answered all of my prayers and suggested we go back to her house, put our jammies on and watch bad TV. Amen. So we sat in front of the mammoth boob tube, me drinking red wine, her- beer, the Mr.-Jameson, and watched "Chappelle Show" reruns and "Man vs. Food" in Minneapolis.
  • Sunday AM we loaded up the car, grabbed a couple of bagel-egg sandwhiches and hit the road home with our drooling, puking nugget of fun that we like to call Bubs.
  • The rest, in no particular order: Making currant jelly, making multi-layered jello, canning jalapenos, getting lost in St. Paul on my bike, sweating, feeding my ebay obsession, forgetting to wash my hair, making "hair hats" with said dirty hair, laundry, picking pet hair out of my teeth, seeing what those no-good neighborhood hudlums are up to again, putting off projects and constructing dioramas depicting embarrassing moments from my childhood out of garbage.
Happy Thursday, my beer-soaked nuggets of pukey, jalapeno-y goodness. Happy Thursday.


Thursday, July 23, 2009

I'm really not smarter than a fifth-grader, it seems.

I am horrified, laughing so hard I snort, and marginally impressed/embarrassed that I have lived exactly 38 years on this earth thinking that New York City, being Eastern Standard Time, is not TWO hours ahead of little ol' me here in MN, Central Time like I had convinced myself of, but it is only ONE hour. Um...duh. ALL my life I had believed this to be the case. ALL my life I have thought this. Sadly, I am not lying.

Being that I forget what day it is and did I remember to put deodorant on with astounding regularity, this shouldn't be that big of a surprise, but taking into account that I'm THIRTY EIGHT FREAKING YEARS OLD AND STILL MARGINALLY SMRT THANK-YOU VERY MUCH, even I'm a little shocked. The world as I knew it has changed. New Yorkers are no longer ringing in the new year two hours ahead of everyone else in that smug way they do (kidding!), but instead they are one step closer to being...

...Midwestern. In my eyes anyways. The horror!

I was informed tonight, by the Mr. that I have been horribly, horribly wrong in my old ways of thinking. After he stopped laughing and wondering if he should get some sort of tax break for marrying me, he looked at me like, "really? You REALLY didn't know?"
The look on my laughing, teary, snorting face pretty much answered that.

How did I find out, you ask? What shattered all of my previously held illusions?

The Fashion Show. On fucking Bravo TV.


When the winner was finally announced (yay, Anna! My choice won! Woo!) at 10:00 PM my time, and (I think) the show was live, I mentioned to the Mr. how nerve-racking it must have been for the finalists to have to wait until midnight to find out who won.

He looked at me with that smug look of superiority that husbands get when they get to actually be the winner/weiner for once, and he says, "What time exactly do you think it is there?"

Me: "Um...midnight?"

Him: (rolls eyes) "They're only an hour ahead, you know. Remember- Eastern, Central, Mountain and Pacific time? Remember? CAN'T YOU REMEMBER SHIT FROM ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, DUMMY? CAN YOU ADD? HOW ABOUT CURSIVE WRITING, LITTLE MISS SHORT BUS????"

OK, I may have embellished a bit there.

So, yeah. I am freely admitting here and now that I, Whiskeymarie VonPartypants- smrt girl extrordinaire, monkey whisperer and underpants savant- I did not know the complexities and subtle nuances of the US time zone map. Is there some sort of support group for this? I'm all confused inside and my no-no parts feel funny...

I might be out for a while as it appears I am being sent to "Multiplication Tables Summer Camp."

Wish me luck- I'm going to try and make a crocheted penis warmer at craft time, and I'm hoping to lead the sing-along in a rousing round of "Erotic City."

Happy Thursday/Friday my little confused nuggets of not right in the head. Happy T/F.


Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Yes- your ass looks fat in those pants. Yes it does.

Dear Victoria's Secret:

Last time I checked, you were in the business of making women look and feel sexy, or at the very least look and feel not fat, not frumpy, and not like sad, stumpy 80's throwbacks.

Guess I was wrong. So very, very, very, horribly wrong. Wrong like mixing tequila and cottage cheese wrong. Wrong like picking your nose with a fork wrong.

My answer to the question, "Hey Whiskey- will you be wearing the hottest trend in pants according to Victoria's secret this year?"





Cause we all know that pleated, tapered pants look really hot and don't make the average woman look like she's got two ziplocs filled with rice pudding taped to her lower abdomen and outer thighs. What woman doesn't want to add on 10-15 pounds, visually? While you're at it, How about working some appliqued sweatshirts into next year's line? I hear watermelons are all the rage in Milan right now:

This time, VS- this time you've gone too far. Thanks for putting the "pear" back in "pear-shaped".

Ugh. As in, UGLY. You can expect to receive a summons from the fashion police in 7-10 working days.

Hugges and kisses dotted with a heart over the "i"-

-Whiskeymarie VonPartypants

Friday, July 17, 2009

This just in: Turns out, you ARE the boss of me.

This is Bubs:

This, it seems, is Bubs' bitch:

So, here we were over at Casa dePartypants, thinking that we had a "perfect" new dog whose cuteness was rivaled only by fluffy baby kitties wearing fluffy bunny costumes, and whose obvious adoration and complete and total devotion to his owners was rivaled only by that S&M dude that lived in that box in the gun shop in "Pulp Fiction".

Well, we were WRONG. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Not about the cuteness thing- that's so obviously true- but we were pretty much wrong about everything else.

I was feeling so smug- I thought that I was totally the "Alpha dog" in mine & Bubs' relationship. He follows me around the house, he snuggles with me constantly, he freaked out when I left the house with out him, he completely lost his shit (and it was sooo cute when he did- he would run around wiggling his but, smiling and emitting a cute little howl) whenever I came home after being gone a while, and he was very protective and territorial of me where the Mr. and the cats were concerned. He didn't seem to want to warm up to the Mr, but we figured that would change over time. The fact that he peed on the Mr's stuff and peed on lots of other things when we left him home alone seemed just like normal "new dog" separation issues.

Um, yeah...not so much. I'm not so much the "Alpha" as I am the "Asshole".

(And, on a side note: I am neither an idiot nor a novice when it comes to dogs. I grew up with them- big ones, small ones- I get it. I think we were just hoping that we had stumbled upon the one dog in the universe that was pretty much "wash and wear" no training needed. It's funny what you'll start to believe if you tell yourself it enough. Like that time I kept telling myself that cake for breakfast is a healthy lifestyle choice and that all of my pants "must have shrunk in the dryer". )

It seems we have been doing every single thing wrong with the little dude: how we walk him, how we snuggleandloveandkissandspoon him, how we look at him, how we feed him, how we walk up and down stairs with him, how we try and not let him chase the poor kitties, how we breathe the same air...

...well, maybe not the last one, but you get the point. Us = WRONG.

So now we're embarking on a massive training plan, one I've dubbed Bubs' Intensive Training Camp Hellyeah! or BITCH, for short.

It's actually going well, so far. He has taken to walking properly on our walks with little or no struggle anymore (behind me or to the side of me, no pulling on the lead), he chases after the cats less, he won't walk up or down stairs until I tell him it's OK, he's learning "stay" and "come" and "fetch Mommy a cocktail". (Well, in all honesty the "fetch" thing isn't going so well- he always forgets the olives in my martini, and between you and me, the guy can't make a margarita for shit.) His freakouts when I'm out of the house for a while have lessened considerably, I don't think he's peed anywhere in the house in a few days, and he's starting to figure out that his reign as King of the Casa is coming to an end.

He's still perfect in my eyes (almost never, ever barks, sleeps through the night without so much as a wimper, snuggles like a champ, and when he looks up at me with those googly-woogly eyes I still melt into a big, sloppy puddle), but it will be some work before he's perfect in my HOUSE.

I've got all the "basic training of my dog" bases covered, but none of the literature seems to address the whole "stopping your dog from shedding" thing, or the "how can I make my dog's farts of death smell like cupcakes?" thing.
Any suggestions?

Happy Friday, my incorrigible little alpha bitches. Happy Friday.


Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Yup- looks like another flare-up. I'm gonna need some ointment here, folks...

Suicidal memes, part deux:

(This is the point where I remind y'all that my inner stubborn leprechaun flatly refuses to follow the rules on these things. I post no rules, I tag no one as last time I did that I had a hell of a time getting the smell off of my fingers.)

I was tagged by The Girl Wonder (who happens to write a very funny, witty blog. She's totally smarter than I am and she makes pizza and ice cream a lot. She's my kind of gal.)

I'm supposed to tell you ten things about myself that you probably don't know but are completely true.

Holy hell, after 2.5 years of blogging, I've told you everything from what my bra size is to that story where I accidentally cut the inside of my nostril with a pair of scissors. I've discussed my lady bits, I pretty much give you a running account of what I eat, I've posted numerous hideous pictures and embarrassing stories from my youth, and I regularly talk about poo in all forms.

I don't know if there are even ten things left, but like #499 out of 500 in the "World's Largest Gang-bang", I may as well just give it a go at this point. How bad can it be, really?:

#1) I don't own any sort of mp3 player. No ipod, no Zune, nothing. Nor do I have any desire to have one. I have a hard enough time paying attention to what I'm doing when I'm out biking or walking- the last thing I need is more distractions. I'm the kind of person who would run into traffic chasing a butterfly that, upon further inspection, turns out to be a moth- I don't need Air Supply cranked at full volume to increase my odds of becoming asphalt hamburger.

#2) I had a pet mouse when I was a teenager. He was black and I named him Darby, as in Darby Crash from the Germs. My Mom was disturbed at first, but eventually she took a shining to the little guy and regularly played with him and gave him baths. She even got him a little Xmas stocking and bought him gifts. He pooped constantly and had a way of spraying his smelly pee out of his cage and onto the wall, but we sure loved that little turdlet. He died in the winter, and I wanted to bury him proper-like, so I wrapped him up, put him in a ziploc, and stored him in the freezer until Spring. I really should have warned Mom about this, as the day she found him in there was interesting, to say the least.

#3) I like to take historical home tours by myself.

#4) The Mr. and I are talking about eventually buying a small farm on the outskirts of Duluth. And by "eventually" we mean sooner, not later. He actually initiated the idea (anyone who knows him knows how completely out of character this idea is coming from him), and I would totally be on board. I could realistically see doing this in the next 10 years, and it would make me ecstatically happy. I could finally raise funny-looking chickens, maybe some goats, and garden to my heart's content. Plus, I wouldn't have those nosy neighbors that get so uptight about seeing a grown woman practicing her "ode to squirrels" interpretive dance in the front yard.

#5) Shit- I'm only up to 5? Hmmm...OK. I have successfully weaned myself out of a raging coffee habit. I still drink the stuff occasionally, but pretty much only on the weekends. I was up to about 40-50 ounces a day, which may not be a lot to some of you, but it made me jittery, yet I had no energy whatsoever, and I'd fly into the rage cage if someone so much as looked at me funny. I figured it was only a matter of time before I snapped and strangled someone with their own underpants for having the NERVE to greet me with a cheery "good morning!" Well, that and I'm pretty convinced it was slowly eating a hole clear through my belly.

#6) In elementary school, I purposely lost a spelling bee just because I didn't want to be the "dork who won the spelling bee". I stand by my decision.

#7) I sent off the first item I've ever sold on Ebay yesterday. I see a new addiction coming on. It's not so much about the $$, but more in that my stuff is going to people that really want it, and that makes me happy. Before you know it, we'll be living in an empty house, and I'll be rolling on the floor muttering, "Just one more fix, please! I just need to sell one small thing, just to , you know- get me through the day. Help a girl out!" I see Ebay sellers rehab in my very near future.

#8) When I was 18, naive, and fresh in college, I met a crazy guy who wanted me to take pictures of him to help jump-start a possible career in porn. Since I had no boundaries and thought he was funny, I agreed. He was rather, ahem, well-gifted in the area that is most appreciated by this industry, and I took a bunch o'photos of it/him. We didn't know where to develop them, so he said to drop them at Target, which I did. Then I forgot to pick them up. Oops. We stopped hanging out shortly thereafter, and as far as I know he never picked them up either. I wonder what ever happened to them and if his "career" ever got off the ground?

#9) Speaking of porn, when I was young I found my Dad's stash of porn in the basement. It was a pile of 6-7 Penthouse magazines from the 70's that he was very clearly trying to hide. Of course I looked at them, and for many years after that I thought that sex involved roller skates, being on a yacht, bananas, or being naked in the woods. Or all of the above. Come to think of it, maybe I still do...

#10) I eat eggs in some shape or form probably 6 times a week. I never get sick of them. I expect to morph into the Chicken lady any time now. Be afraid.

That's it! I'm done and I'm to wash the blood off my hands. I've killed two memes in two days- I better stop before I reach serial killer status. Plus, the freezer is full and the neighbors are starting to get suspicious.

Happy Wednesday, my bloody little nuggets of random information. Happy Wednesday.


Tuesday, July 14, 2009

A rare but genuine and heartfelt apology to my wife.

Dear Gwen:
I'm sorry I told everybody that you eat babies. It was a bold-faced lie meant to besmirch your good name. Plus it's totally ridiculous- I mean, it's not like there is a baby farm somewhere, letting babies graze freely and plumping them up for the day that Gwen could eat them up, nom nom nom. Please don't divorce me, Sugartits. If you can see it in your heart to take me back, I totally won't start rumors about you for at least a week. I love you, baby.

On a side note- did that rash ever clear up?


Monday, July 13, 2009

Just like herpes or my crazy cousin Tammie, these things never go away.

Most of you know that this is where memes go to die. When one is sent my way, I let it in the door as any good hostess would and serve it a nice dinner with a moderately-priced wine from Trader Joe's. We chat, it pretends to laugh at my jokes, we maybe get a little tipsy and accidentally make out for a bit.
But once I'm through with them I slip them a roofie, cut them into little pieces with a serrated knife, then hide the pieces in the freezer to use in various stews and soups throughout the winter months.
Mmmm...tastes "meme-y".

But, that being said, it's been about 143 days (give or take 143 days) since I did the last one, and since I got tagged not once, but TWICE in the last week, I think I'm going to go ahead and do them. I'm pretty sure the FBI has moved on to other things by now anyways.

The first one comes from boredmando, up in the mystical land that I like to call "Canadia". Mando has agreed to give me asylum should I ever need to flee to another country, contingent on my completing this meme.

I post no rules, I tag no one- lord knows after I'm done with it no one else is going to want to touch it anyways.

I am to list 5 obsessions and 5 dislikes. As I spend about 13 hours each day obsessing about everything from the condition of my toes to if I should have tacos and a snickers for lunch, and I dislike all SORTS of stuff, this should be easy.

5 Obsessions:
  • Food. This is an obvious one, but as it is my vocation I pretty much think about food 25-30% of every day. What to cook? How should I cook it? Does this smell funny to you? Why does this taste like burning? I cook at home, I teach cooking, I read cookbooks, I read cooking magazines, I watch cooking TV, I read books about food/cooking, and I spend most of my time in the kitchen, sometimes even while wearing pants. How I don't weigh 450 pounds is beyond me. I like to think the wine flushes the bad stuff out.
  • Moisturizing. I have, without fail, put lotion on my face at least twice a day, every single day, since I was 16. Every. Day. In the winter I sometimes do it 4-5 times a day. I cannot STAND when my skin feels dry. I have bottles of lotion in almost every room of the house as I need to rub it into my hands probably 239 times a day. This is also why I never get anything else done, but my skin looks great.
  • What other people eat/wear/do with their houses. I swear, if all of you only wrote on your blogs what you ate and wore the day before, I would never, ever get sick of reading it. I love seeing how other people live. This is also why I love going for a walk at dusk, when people haven't closed their shades yet, so I can see what the inside of their houses look like. Hey, it's not peeping if I'm just walking by and the window is open anyways, right? And it's not my fault that you like to walk around wearing nothing but too-small Superman underpants and thigh-high stockings in your living room three times a week and every other Sunday. I can't help what I see on my (totally random, I swear!) walks.
  • Facebook. Gah. I can't believe that I'm admitting that. I'm such a cliche, but I can't stop. Send help. And cookies. And good whiskey- it goes well with cookies.
  • Obsessing.
5 Dislikes:
  • Talking on the phone. Hate it. HATE it. I think I used up my "loves talking on the phone" minutes back in high school. Now? I ignore the necessary evil as if it were covered in mushrooms and other people's pubic hair. On the off chance I answer, it means I'm probably drunk or Clive Owen is finally getting back to me about that whole "having hot, sweaty sex with me" thing.
  • Guys in skinny jeans. Ick, ick, ick. I know I'm going to catch flak for this one, but I don't give a shit. Unless you're 14-19 years old, gay, or both- stop. Please, just stop. You look retarded.
  • Schmoozing. Every time I'm forced to do some work-related, schmooze-required event or find myself in an outside-of-work situation that forces me to "talk shop" and "network" with people I don't or barely know, I die a little inside. Which isn't to say I'm not any good at it, I'm OK, I just hate it with every cell in my body. Usually I play a little game, where I see how long I can make it before the torture makes me say something inappropriate or incoherent. I give myself 10 points if I do it in front of more than one person, 5 if I do it with something stuck in my teeth, and 8 if it involves accidentally insulting someone. I think I'm up to about 5,379 points so far. If I reach 10,000 I'm buying myself a discount Chinese baby girl as a reward. I hear they're "in" this year.
  • Over-analyzing stuff. I like to look at a situation, quickly assess it, then make a decision and stick to it. This works out at LEAST 50% of the time, so I see no reason to bother with things like "research" and "not jumping to conclusions" or "putting more than an ounce of thought into that sexual reassignment surgery". I stand by my decisions, dammit.
  • Most action movies, shrimp and shellfish, the taste of most toothpastes, shallow/phony people, warm chocolate chip cookies, overly hot summers, having to work, overcooked meat or eggs, dusting, lawn care, long fingernails, people who don't use their blinkers, people who chew with their mouths open, and finally (for now)- Cinnamon Toast crunch Cereal.
Whew. That felt good. Not "found a $100-dollar bill" good, but at the very least "found what was stinking up the fridge" good.

That's probably enough meme goodness for today/now. Stay tuned for part two, where I list my five favorite parts of my lady bits (here's a hint- #3 rhymes with "bovary"), tell you the top ten ways I like to perform unsavory personal hygiene acts in public (the "wipe and swipe" move is particularly impressive), or the last 7 books about surgical procedures from the 1600s that I've read ("Ye Olde Guide to Amputations using Ye Olde Hammers" was very engaging).

Happy Monday, my bullet-pointed lists of pubic hair goodness. Happy Monday.


Wednesday, July 8, 2009

When Becky's picture shows up on the side of a milk carton- cover for me, will you?

With all this free time on my hands, I finally found time to open up my mail-hole bag (that's what SHE said!) and peruse some of my fan mail. Usually I have my manservant, Renaldo, do this sort of thing so I can avoid touching anything you "common" people have touched, but he came down with a raging case of anal herpes and will be bedridden for a month. Fiddlesticks.

I get mail from all sorts of folks, today I'll show you a smattering of the joy I encounter each and every day when I wait for the mailman dressed in my most elegant eveningwear.

Our first letter comes from a fellow primate lover, it seems:

Oh, my. Ahem.
Well, Saco (is that pronounced saw-co or say-co?), I can appreciate a fellow monkey-lover as much as the next girl. Lord, how I love their funny faces and the way they jauntily fling their feces at us silly humans. Thing is, Saco- I can't say I've ever had sexual feelings towards a monkey- well, not unless you count the monkey from Every Which Way but Loose. Now THAT was a good-looking, sexy monkey- am I right girls? Am I right?

But honestly, Saco- I don't see this working out for us. I'm not into furries and I'm certainly not into poo-flinging primates- not in the bow-bow-chicka-bow sense, anyways. I'm sending you the number of your local zoo- maybe you will find the sweet, sweet monkey love that you are looking for there. Or you'll get arrested. Whatever- not my problem anymore.

My next letter comes from one of my younger fans. Well, at least I think it's from someone under the age of 10, judging from the handwriting, stickers, and faint scent of crayola crayons and glue emanating from the envelope:

Well, Becky- your letter has me confused and worried. Do Mommy and Daddy let you go on the com-pu-tor all by yourself and read whatever you want? Are Mommy and Daddy too busy drinking "adult juice" on the back porch while smoking those funny-smelling cigarettes to notice you? Or, did Mommy and Daddy give you away to that bill collector that came to the house because Daddy spent all the family's money on gambling and "special lady friends"?

Let me tell you, Becky, no matter why you're here, I welcome you. I enjoy the chance to mold a young mind, and I do indeed like unicorns and rainbows. By the time I'm done with you, you'll know how to make a perfect martini, you'll have mastered the art of picking your unders out of your bum in public places, and you'll probably have been arrested- but don't worry, you're still a juvenile so it's all good. Think of me as your mentor- your BFF, if you will. We have so much to do, Becky. Now go find Mommy's credit cards and use them take the first bus here- I'll be anxoiusly awaiting your arrival with many catalogs in hand. How do you feel about shopping, Becky...?

The next letter I found under my pillow this morning. I'm not sure how it got there, but it sure was a thoughtful gesture, whoever did it:
First off, Klaus- you seem to struggle with the fine art of letter writing. Just an FYI- just because you cross it out doesn't mean I can't read it. It's not like some sort of invisibility cloak, dummy. Second, thank you from the bottom of my heart for keeping my posture problem a secret- people can be so cruel towards the posturally-challenged. Dumbass. Now everyone knows about my slouching AND my laziness when it comes to keeping up with my waxing. Oh well, I'm sure most of my female readers share this problem, right? It's really common, right? Right?

Ooh- I love when I get letters from friends!!! This next one is from my bestest girl, Gwen:
Oh, Gwennie, you so silly. It's so cute how you keep trying to make people think you don't eat babies when you already admitted it. Fine, we'll keep your secret. OK, everyone? Don't tell anyone else that Gwen eats babies. Thanks a ton.

This next one was hand-delivered (OK, mouth-delivered) by my new doggie, Bubs this morning:
Oh, Bubs. If you didn't want me laughing at your little funny weiner, then you shouldn't HAVE a little, funny weiner. I'm sorry baby, I can't help myself. Get used to it, sweetie.

Finally, this last one was tucked into my mail yesterday. I think it might be from my hot mailman who (I suspect) has a gigantic crush on me:

Oh, he's so shy. He's trying to tell me he loves me, but he's too socially awkward to say it straight out. I think this is code for "Next time, please meet me at the door wearing nothing but a thong and pasties. I lust for you."
Benny, Benny, Benny- ours is a forbidden love- we must look but not touch. Remember- last time I tried to touch you someone took out a restraining order on me. I know it wasn't you, silly. I'm sure it was your mean bosses at the Post Office. Hey, hasn't that thing expired by now? Hmmm...maybe I should see for sure tomorrow- what time can I expect to touch you?


Well, that's all the mail I have time for today, my little mail monkeys. Until our next installment...

Any correspondence/complaints/questions/boxes of candy can be sent to:

Whiskeymarie VonPartypants
666 Bubbles Terrace
St. Paul, MN 55666

*Whiskeymarie VonPartypants, Inc. in no way endorses bestiality, gratuitous nudity, sexually harrassing letter-carriers, or eating babies.
*WVP, Inc does, however, endorse giggling at dog's weiners. Weiners are funny. Tee-hee. Weiner.


Tuesday, July 7, 2009

If you can't take the heat, quit licking the grill, dummy.

When I have time off, as I do now, I tend to occupy my time a number of ways: Reading, trying to teach my pets to juggle, organizing various piles of crap around the house, sweeping up hairballs, staring at my pores for hours on end, internet shopping, cyber-stalking celebrities, self-diagnosing vague symptoms on WebMD, and finally- cooking.

I've been cooking up a storm here at Casa deVonPartypants lately, and I can confidently say that nothing I've made has killed anyone...yet.

Since I know y'all love food porn almost as much as you love midget clown porn, here is my last four days in food, minus the cereal I ate for breakfast and my 2:00 AM shame nachos.

Friday: White-wine braised swiss chard with...

...chicken with olives, capers & roasted lemons, loosely based on this recipe. So very, very delicious. I used kalamata olives since I didn't have any green ones, and I roasted the lemons a much shorter time at a higher heat, as I wanted them to get a bit browned.

Saturday found me craving these potato-tuna turnovers. I've had my students make them a bunch of times and they are like flaky, buttery crack to me. Phyllo can be a bitch to work with sometimes, but these are so good I don't mind. I mixed some spicy harissa (from a jar- sue me) with greek yogurt for a dipping sauce. If you can get the fancy tuna packed in oil, use it, otherwise just use regular tuna and add some good extra-virgin olive oil to the mix.

I thought I'd stick with a Mediterranean/Middle Eastern theme for the rest of the meal, so I made a spicy chicken, spinach & chickpea curry (served on basil quinoa):

And since we had some fabulous homegrown tomatoes and fresh basil from the farmer's market, I made a simple salad with tomatoes, basil and feta cheese with a basil-mint vinaigrette:

Oops- that's not food! How'd this snapshot of extreme cuteness get in there? Silly me...

Sunday found us wanting to grill. We had a friend coming over and some venison tenderloins in the freezer that we decided it was time to eat, so this is what I came up with- Balsamic-marinated venison loin with tomato-roasted pepper relish on grilled onions & zucchini:

Last night's dinner- Pan-roasted Wild-caught Alaskan halibut with avocado-lime salsa (basically just avocado, lots of lime juice, a little red onion, a little olive oil and some salt & pepper). I served it with arroz verde and green beans with caramelized onions, almonds & lime. The green beans were kind of an afterthought, but holy crap they were GOOD:

Oh, and we used the juicer to juice part of a watermelon so I could make watermelon daquiris:

I planted a cherry tree about 5 years ago which, up until this year I have been unable to actually enjoy as the stupid birds usually eat every. stinking. cherry. before I get a chance. For whatever reason, this year they aren't interested. These are super-duper-tart cherries, so they should be good for baking. Eating them straight off the tree isn't an option, unless eating a lemon like an apple is your sort of thing- sour as all get-out with a hefty side of bitter- yum!

Trouble likes to pull the cherries out of the bowl and bat them around. Yes, he's on the counter. I'm aware that he shouldn't be there. He's just so darned cute and persistent that I can't kick him off every time. Don't worry- the counter/cutting board get thoroughly scrubbed & disinfected every time I use them. I love them to death, but even I don't want my food to have overtones of cat butt:

So, I made cherry-almond pound cake today. It's still cooling, so I haven't tried it yet, but this is the finished product:
When I'm too fat to get off of the couch and bathe myself properly, you guys will be there for me- right?

Thanks- you're the best!


Thursday, July 2, 2009

The one where you debate staging a poignant, yet hilarious, intervention.

So, yeah.
I went to my 20-year reunion this past weekend, held at a distinguished and exclusive venue located in the pristine northwoods. Le Casa de Buffalo is a rustic, yet highly sophisticated tavern of sorts, complete with its own campground and semi-residential RV park. Many a night has occured when a retardedly drunk patron only has to stumble home 50 feet or so to their pop-up camper, where they have been living since the bitch wife got the house. Good times.
The lite beer flows freely from the freshly tapped kegs, and the giant fiberglass buffalo at the entrance lets you know that you're in the right place.

Waffle and I arrived fashionably late (6:45, it started at 6), to be greeted by a smorgasboard of our former students. We sat down with one guy that we adore who didn't actually graduate with our class as his family moved somewhere around 9th or 10th grade, but he was a good friend of our little misfit clan and we were dying to see him. This is also when the first drinks of the evening were consumed, followed by the second round about 8 minutes later. And so on...

(Me and Waffle, about 5 hours in.)

I have to say most everyone looked really, really good. As in, "How the fuck are we 38?? We look 28-32 TOPS. Right?? RIGHT??"
A few divorces here & there, lots of kids of all ages, and a few impending grandkids. Some of the girls were downright hot, and a few of the guys got much better looking with time. Everyone was nice to one another, and most everyone proceeded to drink themselves silly- literally and figuratively. There was a lot of hugging and smiling going on- pretty much 80% of my pictures were people in the same pose, as demonstrated here by myself and one of the guys from our class. I just hope the small-town folk are ready for interracial love such as ours:

(God, I'm pale.)

I feel very lucky (now) to have gone to such a small high school. At the time, I yearned to live somewhere that students didn't see driving a tractor to school as an option, and where the nightlife consisted of more than sitting in either mine or Waffle's bedrooms with music cranked and a half-empty bottle of Dr. Pepper getting passed between us while we called boys and munched on Doritos.
Now I see what a great thing that was- we all know each other, and we genuinely care about what is going on in everyone's life. It was really, really fun. And yes, there are a few VERY debaucherous things that happened. And no, for once they didn't directly involve me. But alas, to preserve the dignity of the individuals in question (or, more accurately, to not further sully it), I have to keep my lips sealed. I will give you three words: makeout, underpants, and boobies. Use your imagination, monkeys.

Sunday night I had the honor and the privelege to meet one of my all-time favorite blogger girls. Lollie has been in the picture from early on, when I was thrilled if I got 2 comments on a post. I love, love, love this woman and was really excited (and kind of nervous) to meet her & her Mr.

We met up at W.A. Frost's, here in St. Paul and sat on the amazing patio there. She also invited her friend Hulles, who lives in St. Paul and writes a not-often-enough-updated blog, among other fantastic things. I dragged the Mr. along, we sat, we drank, we talked, and we just had an awesome time in general. Lollie, her Mr. and Hulles were all funny, smart, easy to get along with, and people who "get it" in general. Lollie is gorgeous, totally tiny (even after having a cheeky little monkey boy less than 1 year ago) and her Mr. is a witty, handsome devil. Hulles was an unexpected delight and someone I hope we hang out with again and often- funniest guy I've met in a long time.

Oh, and did I mention that we drank a little?

Holy hell, after about 14 glasses of wine and then a trip across the street to the Russian place for vodka drinkies, it was all a little blurry. An exerpt from mine & Lollie's e-mail exchange the next day:

Lollie: "I felt like a dirty pirate hooker the next morning - I even barfed a couple of times. YEAH! SHE STILL HAS IT!! (Did you see my boobies at one point...?)" Me: "If I saw your boobies, I don't remember, but [Hulles] has pics from Moscow on the Hill that I think we should be scared of."

Good times. I love you, Lollie! You can totally show me your boobies anytime. I don't mind. How we didn't manage to get a picture of us together, only the booze knows why.

Beyond that, my last 5-6 days has consisted of the following:
  • Pet hair removal from the house (took ALL day Tuesday and now it's ALL back- ugh.)
  • BBQ-ing with friends
  • Reading my first 1/2 book in 8 months. I hope to finish in the next 8.
  • Staring at my toes and inventing fairy tales involving them. My favorite is "Goldietoes and the Festering Ingrowns."
  • Putting up roman shades in 2 rooms- one of those "easy" projects that had me yelling "motherfucker!" and "Jesus, shit!" every few seconds. Fun.
  • Minor gardening
  • Dog/cat intervention and mediation
  • Teaching said dog how to vomit into a plastic bag on car trips instead of my lap- yay, me!
  • Visiting the spankin' new Trader Joe's that is LESS THAN ONE MILE FROM MY HOUSE AND I CAN BIKE THERE, SUCKAS!!
  • Picking at scabs
  • Target, Menards, Kmart (don't ask), Vintage furniture shopping, Farmer's market, and internet shopping.
  • Applying for the corner hooker's position as Madge is retiring and I think we'll need the extra cash as we seem to be hemmoraging it lately. For my audition I demonstrated how I can say "butt job" in 14 different languages, thus demonstrating my versatility. I think I have a good chance of getting the position...
  • Cooking- this one was last night's dinner. Brown rice risotto (I left it kind of saucy on purpose) with bacon, corn & swiss chard, adobo-rubbed & roasted pork tenderloin, and pumpkinseed pesto. Yum:

So there you have it, drama, romance, intrigue and little or no talk of pet feces, for once.

Happy Thursday, my little dirty pirate hookers. Happy Thursday.