Tuesday, December 29, 2009

What did you get for christmas? Me? Well, I got disowned.

I'm trying to figure out what it was exactly that I did that led to my Dad dumping me via voice mail yesterday (last time it was via e-mail, he seems to be regressing, technologically speaking. I expect our next communication to be through the careful exchange of cassette tapes or by pony express).
I even tried really, really, extra really hard to be nice to the frozen block of holy water that is my stepmother, I offered them each a beverage at least three times, I didn't swear (not even the G-rated ones like "fiddlesticks" and "drat!"), and I only drank wine when neither of them was looking, so as not to offend their delicate sensibilities.

I don't get it. I'm a catch, as far as daughters go- really! I am!
I got good grades through high school & they rarely caught me doing anything bad, which (in my world) pretty much cancels out the bad stuff they didn't catch me doing. I never got caught doing anything unsavory (or savory, for that matter) with boys, I technically "went" to college (so I didn't finish- picky, picky), and I married someone devoid of piercings and (at the time anyways) tattoos. I have an amazing work ethic and I haven't pushed old people over in the street for months.

My Dad, it turns out, is a bit of a conspiracy theorist. Something he said about "setting him up" to "embarrass" him tipped me off. Here I thought I was inviting him to come to a little christmas gathering with my in-laws, but it turns out I was crowning him prom king while dumping a bucket of pig's blood on his head, simply because my younger sister was present and chose there and then to tell him she's pregnant. I guess I forgot to give him an printed program and a guest list. I didn't realize that I even had time to intentionally sabotage family relationships and plan humiliating deceptions, what with me being nice and having a life and all. What a silly twat I am.

Honestly, I didn't even realize that I was smart enough to pull off something so elaborate and sinister. Maybe I should try to embezzle money or join the CIA if my skills at evil schemes are so finely-tuned. Does this mean that I get my own evil lair hidden deep in a mountain on a remote island? Because, that would be wicked sweet.

Here I thought it was just about eating ham and cookies with family, and maybe (just maybe) putting aside bullshit, if only for one day.

Silly, silly me.

So, I guess I'm up for adoption again. Here's my file from the Orphanage/shelter, if you're interested:

Name: Whiskeymarie VonPartypants
Age: 38

Spayed/Neutered?: No, but you may want to consider getting this done. Soon.
Breed: Domestic Caucasian, Mixed Breed

Temperament: Highly excitable, loves to snuggle, sleeps a lot, likes to play with sparkly things, fiercely loyal and likes to scratch herself. A lot.

Diet: Includes (but is not limited to): Chippy things, cheese and all cheese products, cheap wine, pork (especially in cured and/or sausage forms), salads, eggs, cookies, noodles, and the occasional chocolate-dipped marshmallow or salty nut as a treat. She sure loves her treats!

Special Considerations: Whiskey is coming along in her training, but still needs some work. She responds well to gentle commands, but gets angry and may punch you in the crotch if you get angry or try to punish her. She does, however, respond rather well to the occasional slap on the rump, whether it's as a punishment or as a reward. She's almost completely housetrained, just a few accidents here and there, usually in a corner or in a basket of laundry.
Whiskey is a healthy, active girl full of love and just looking for the right parent!

Adoption Fee: $25,000 or best offer. Trades will be considered.


Ugh. I'm glad the joyous season is nearly over. Much more "joy" and I may never be able to wipe the smile from my face. Oh, wait- that's just chocolate. Nevermind.

Happy Tuesday, my marginally potty-trained little castoffs. Happy Tuesday.

Yours in self pity,


Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Like most good trips, this one begins (and ends) with barf.

I seem to be approaching this blog lately the same way I do the "mystery stain" on a rug in the basement that I'm pretty sure is cat puke: Ignore it long enough and maybe it will take care of itself.

Well...since it appears that none of you are going to step up to the plate and do either job for me (even though you totally still owe me for that time I bailed you out of that jail in Mexico for trying to sell tourists homemade Vicodin), here I am- on break from work until January 11 and ready to fill you in on everything ranging from recent purchases I've made (irregular socks and discounted underpants) to the condition of various body parts (boobs: fine, toes: kind of manky).

Here you go- everything I can think of from the last 18-19 days, categorized so you don't get confused and end up on that circus porn site again:

"Operation Fix this Fucking House" had come to a complete standstill for a few months there. Either we lost interest, or the thought of having to spend another entire day painting, laying tile, moving heavy shit or inhaling fumes from yet another misc. chemical needed for who knows what made us just sort of...freeze. I'm happy to say that the dining room is nearing completion (pictures soon) and the demolition of the world's ugliest bathroom should be happening within a few weeks. Just you wait- you have not seen an uglier bathroom- trust me.

Some of you already know this, but for the rest of you- we got another damn cat. Why oh why do those little fuckers have to be so cute, and why am I helpless against their purry, meowy, aloof and basically-disinterested-in-me-and-all-humans personalities????
Meet Millie, 4 pounds of bossy, sassy, scratchy, cuteness:

I really, really, really, really wanted another pussy to add to the flock, and I love her to death, but Casa de VonPartypants is officially full. No more mammals, furry or otherwise. Nope, baby Jeebus- find another hotel and take that stinky donkey with you- we're closed.
I've all but given up on fighting the pet hair tumbleweeds, and instead I'm making them into scarves and mittens to sell on Ebay- get your orders in early for next christmas!

Nothing new to report here- as far as I know I'm still gainfully employed, and I made it through another semester without having to kill any of my students and hide the body parts in various hot dishes (otherwise known as "casseroles" to some of you). I did realize on the last day that I think one of them had a wee crush on me, and really- who can blame him? I wonder if it was the ever-present ponytail or the shapeless white chef coat that finally sealed the deal? Hmmm...

Beyond the usual- Home, family stuff (my younger sister is preggers- finally an heir to carry on the VonPartypants name!), shopping and martinis with the girls (my friends, not my boobs, though technically they were present)- not too much big stuff going on.

Oh, did I forget to mention that I took a little trip to Chicago this past weekend to visit my bestest twatmonkey Gwen and some of her friends from college? Um, yeah- I did. It was fun. Maybe too much fun. I seriously don't have any pictures, though. I um...forgot my camera under a couch (don't ask), and any other pics were taken by other people and really are best left unshared with the unprepared masses.

Highlights from Chicago #1-10:

#1) flying both there and back without the aid of pharmeceuticals or cocktails (those would come into play later, with a vengeance).

#2) Picking up Gwennie at the train station and having her greet me with, "Hey cunt!"

#3) Staying at her friend's lovely condo in DT Chicago- he was a gracious host, to say the least. I really should send him a nice bottle of wine or a high-class hooker as thanks.

#4) Exchanging gifties- Gwen got me this book (which I can't wait to read), and flying monkeys, I got her (and myself) matching Paul Frank christmas monkey t-shirts and a bottle of my favorite Aveda perfume.

#5) Having cocktails & wine starting at 2 in the afternoon after having little to eat that day, also while more than a little nervous to meet so many new people.

#6) Making what I can only describe as an epic and unforgettable impression on her friends- let's leave it at that.

#7) Wearing an elf costume at one point (Gwen was Ms. Claus).

#8) Waking up in a strange city feeling like I had been in a street fight with uncoordinated but freakishly strong ninjas and as if I had chugged a tall, frosty glass of battery acid before bed.

#9) Laying around in jammies with Gwen & Co. for much of the day (after dry-humping her on the couch first), watching christmas movies and trying not to vomit anywhere inappropriate.

#10) Going home was a lowlight, but just getting to see my girl for a wee bit was worth the monumental embarrassment and what eventually turned out to be the worst hangover of my life that lasted three days.

So...that's what I've been up to. Anything new with you?

I have to go now and do some stuff. I guess there's some sort of holiday coming up or something. Crispmas? Stripsmas? Lispmuth?


Happy Gristlemas Eve-eve, my drunken little balls of vomity, hammy goodness. Happy Gristlemas.


Thursday, December 3, 2009

Did I ever tell you about that one time...?

I realized today, when I was telling a few of my students "Shorty's tale" that I, Whiskeymarie VonPartypants, I am a textbook over-sharer.

The minute I finished the story of the epic adventure and they were laughing, I had a moment where I was kind of "oh..." on the inside.

It's not that I'm worried what they'll think about me, because I really, truly don't- I mean, really don't. If I cared what they thought I'd actually put effort into my appearance at work once in a while and bother with things like brushing my hair, wiping the crumbs off of my face, or bathing more often. Maybe I'd even pick the stuff out of my teeth occasionally.

No, what struck me was, "Hey! Maybe they don't want to know about your pet's pooping habits! Maybe no one cares about that time you saw a squirrel eating a chicken wing on the way to work (I did- for realsies!) Maybe, just maybe, no one wants to know how good you are at pretend tap dancing, dammit! Maybe they just listen because they have to!

Then I thought, "Duh- of course they want to hear every drop of goodness and wisdom that comes forth from your pie-hole, because you're awesome, Whiskey."

So...then I launched into telling them the fantastical tale of the time I found a dollar in a bus station bathroom, tucked neatly under the gelatinous bottom of a sleeping lady-hobo.

And they were mesmerized...



Hi, my name is Whiskey and I'm an over-sharer.

"Hi, Whiskey!"

Happy nearly Friday, my little shoe-lickers. Happy nearly Friday.


Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Much like a Hallmark Thanksgiving Special, but with more drinking and poo.

My friends Blondie and Hotpants did the whole Black Friday shopping thing last week.
This means that they woke up Friday morning before I had even gone to bed (considering I didn't go to bed until 3:00ish, that wasn't too difficult). They usually shop until 10:30 or so, then my girl Waffle and I drag our just-woke-up asses to meet them for "lunch". I say "lunch" because, in my world, anything eaten before noon is "breakfast", or at best "brunch".

So...since we met them at 10:45 for lunch at the mall, it makes perfect sense that we'd have three cocktails apiece before noon, right?

I should mention that both Blondie and Hotpants are real pistols to begin with. They regularly break into random songs, say inappropriate things to strangers, request sexual favors from strangers, talk too loudly and very often they spank people. So yeah, they're just like me.
On Black Fridays, however, they usually achieve a level of punchiness that would scare the bejeezus out of the uninitiated. They generally get coffee first, then while they're waiting in line at whatever store, they will begin prank-calling me and Waffle, generally starting about 4:00 in the morning. Usually some sort of hair-band song is involved, and this year the "blowing my nose" call was the featured act. It drives waffle nuts, but I LOVE these calls.

So...we're dealing with: 2 punch-drunk girls surving on no sleep and working on getting real-drunk; 1 sister of Blondie who puts up with all of us but still has that elusive quality called shame that the rest of us don't; Me, who had very little sleep, too much wine the previous night, and took half a muscle relaxer just for fun; and poor Waffle, our straight man/caretaker, who is a firecracker in her own way when we let her get a word in edgewise.

Once lunch was done and before our poor server had to kick us out for saying things like "finger-banging" and "butthole" and "twatmonkey" WAY too loudly and making pretty much everyone else there sorry that they didn't go to the Olive Garden, we decided to venture into the mall and get our shop on.

While we were wondering through Younkers (a Macy'sesque department store, FYI), Hotpants was looking at children's boots and laughed as she said that she didn't even know what size boots her two boys wear. This is totally acceptable as she has had a big plate of shit on her table lately, and the stress from what she's dealing with would make anyone a bit goofy.
But...being that we are the way we are, and that we know each other well enough to do such things, I LOUDLY piped up in the crowded store, "Well, you would probably know what size shoes your kids wore if you DIDN'T DRINK SO MUCH, YOU KNOW!"

Most people just tried to not make eye contact. A few shook their heads in that way Minnesotans do when they are secretly happy that we're not related to them.

A few minutes later as she was looking at blankets or something, I piped up, "Yeah, you would know if you needed a blanket if YOU WEREN'T SO DRUNK ALL THE TIME!"

When she commented on how much something cost, I bellowed, "If you DIDN'T SPEND ALL YOUR MONEY ON BOOZE, YOU COULD AFFORD TO BUY THAT FOR YOUR FAMILY."

I did this about 15 times, it never got old.

The best part was all the people not in on the joke, staring at their fellow shoppers, confused that they accidentally wandered into Wal-Mart somehow.

I love shopping.


Yesterday I had to take Bub's to the vet for his yearly shots. Since the reminder postcard I got said something about "fecal" or "stool", if I remember correctly (which I didn't), I assumed that they would need a fresh sample.
So, I saved Bub's stinky bag of joy from his morning constitutional. Double-bagged, such is the stink. When it was time to go, I put the bag in my purse. That's normal, right?

We walked to the vet (about 8 blocks away), and checked in. I thought it was odd that they didn't ask for the "sample", but I figured maybe the vet would. A few minutes later, Bubs got his shots, we chit-chatted a little, and then he said "see you in six months!" and walked out. Hmm.
I went out front to pay, and no mention was made of them needing the now-stinking through both bags and stinking up the waiting room bag of poo in my purse.
As I'm about to walk out, I decided to just ask. "Don't you need a stool sample?"
They looked at me blankly. "No we don't." was the answer.

I mumbled, "Oh, because I brought one, just in case."
(blank stares)
"Um, ok. Bye!"

And I walked out the door with the festering bag of feces still in my purse. I wondered what people would think if I was hit by a car or something on the way home and they found this gem among my belongings. I would forever be the girl who carried dog shit around in her purse.

Yay, me.


Gotta go now & get ready to go back to work today, my little stinky piles of drunky goodness. Happy Tuesday.