Lifestyles of the marginal and infamous.

I'm not sure what I'm doing different in my life that I seem to have no time whatsoever lately for this blog/reading blogs. Perhaps I could spend less time inspecting my face for imaginary zits, or If I cut back to one day a week instead of three for my doctor-prescribed uvula massage, or maybe if I spent less time dressing up the kitties and re-enacting great scenes from "Fantasy Island", maybe just maybe I might open up a few hours here and there.

I hate these random posts, but it's really the only safe and medically-approved way to convey the information to you today, trust me. My past week, in original bullet form because I know how the imitation bullet form gives you that rash on your...you know:

• I've had disturbingly vivid and realistic dreams this past week. In one, I got really drunk in front of this dorky guy that I went to high school with and then tried to make out with him, which he refused. I woke up panicked & embarrassed and worried about the impending reunion this summer.
• I fell on the ice once, and almost fell 3 other times. My butt hurt for three days, my pride hurt for 5. It's called salt, people. You live in MN- salt your fucking sidewalk, will you? Next time I slip on someone's skating rink of a sidewalk they're getting an angry note tied to a brick through the window.
  
• Operation Fix This Fucking House is up and running once again. This weekend we were unsuccessful in moving the longest couch ever upstairs into the Mr's newly painted and re-floored office. As I can no longer tolerate this couch sitting in my dining room, it now resides in the front porch with the rest of our orphaned furniture. It seems to be getting along with the old living room chair, but the vintage patio set is ignoring them- they're cliquey like that. The dining room is finally taking shape, and If all goes well (HAHAHAHAHA!), I should have "before and after" pics for you soon. My house is starting to look pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.
• I went here Friday to check in on some ice carving that was going on. I love that when they designed this hotel, they decided to embrace the winter rather than fight it, so they opened a courtyard "Ice Bar" where the bar itself, and much of the seating is carved from ice. There's a roaring fire pit, fabulous art, and ridiculously expensive martinis that make you feel much cooler than you actually are. The theme of the ice carving exhibition was "demented", and the projects ranged from daggers and skulls to a hippopotamus coming out of a toilet. Other than the fact that it was bone-chilling cold & windy, it was pretty cool to be out and about and seeing something interesting.
  
• That same night I had dinner with old Duluth friends here. The food was really good, the company was great, and I managed to make it through the evening without pissing anyone off or getting arrested for indecent exposure. We'll call this one a success.
• Yet another trip to IKEA, yet another $250 I'll never see again. Buuntengaargen, my ass.
  
• Work. Lots of work. Lots and lots of work.
  
• Not much cooking- last night we had the Mr's brother over for dinner. I made "fancy taco night" fare: homemade black beans, spicy chipotle shredded chicken, charred peppers and onions, fluffy guac and all the necessary accoutrements. We broke in my new bamboo dining room table and shiny white modern chairs and acted like civilized adults with cloth napkins and everything. Wine was consumed, our bellies were full. It was lovely.
  
• I accidentally ripped off 2/3 of one of my lesser toenails, yet oddly enough it didn't really hurt.
  

There you go. Now we're caught up and I can get back to "regular-type" posting. You know, things like "Ponderings on the life of a pubic crab" or, "I forgot I ate a pound of beets the day before, so I almost called the doctor" or, "Whiskeymarie's picks for the geriatric summer olympics!"

Lucky you.

Where Girl scouts fear to tread...

I've had this bin of stuff in the basement that's pretty much been there since we moved in, and before that it moved around with me through various apartments, boyfriends, getting married and finally buying the house. If I were a trust-fund baby, it would be an heirloom cedar chest filled with (use your best Katherine Hepburn voice here) "Mummy's finest linens, Grandmama's pearls and pictures of Poppy from his polo-playing days".

(back to nasal Minnesota voice)
Yeah...not so much:

Instead, I've got an overflowing plastic bin filled with odd mementos that smell like my basement.

I decided it was time to drag it up and see what exactly I have in there- turns out I packed a LOT of stuff into that thing. My high-school diploma, my card certifying that I once learned how to properly swim so that when people see me flailing wildly in a pool I can say it's just my "style" not that I "never learned", A folder full of funny cartoons and such from a very talented, artsy ex-boyfriend, Elementary school yearbooks and such & such.

Oh, and a Cabbage Patch doll:

She used to have purple glasses, but I guess I lost those. I don't even remember why I have one, as I was waaaaayyyy too old for one by the time suburban moms were clawing each others' eyes out for these things. It has an actual little diaper on, a fact which kept me awake at night more than once. I posed her with my incomplete Girl Scout sash- you will note the baggie of not-sewn-on badges, which pretty much sums up my life.

I also had a needlework project I made when I was about 7 that, I believe, proves my theory that I am psychic and knew that these would figure prominently in my future:

Oh, how I love the pink elephants. What? You don't see them? Just me?

Proof that I was once smrt:

And that I cud spele reel gud. I is awwsum.

The program from my first big concert-ever- Duran Duran (age 13), and one of my "Student of the Week" awards (how I managed to not spend the two dollar prize on liquor/candy is beyond me) from high school (I have three, but before you build the shrine for me it should be noted that I went to a very small school- repeats and "pity certificates" were inevitable):


The Polaroid taken when me & Waffle became the 10th grade badminton champs. BOO-YA!!!!!
Yes, I'm aware of how lame this is, but please note my wicked awesome sweatshirt and hair (and Waffle's glasses- nerd alert!) Just let me bask in the glory one more time:


In (if I remember correctly) 11th-grade English, we had folders that we used to turn work in, and we were encouraged to decorate them however we saw fit. I'm really surprised that, after seeing mine, that there wasn't "emergency counseling" to exorcise the demons from my soul. Oh well, it WAS the 80's and most of us WERE possessed, so I guess I see the reasoning there (feel free to read my Pulitzer Prize-winning essays- it's like looking into the mind of a tortured young genius):


"Arty" dance photos from my freshman year in college.

For some reason, these make my skin crawl. But, I still have that vintage nightgown and occasionally drag it out, light up a cigarette, pour myself a bourbon and pretend I'm an aging drama queen in 1940's Hollywood. My name is "Helene-Marie St. Soursnouse", and I can be best remembered for my Oscar-winning role as "Frenchie", the down-on-her-luck Parisian lady of the evening with a heart of gold in the 1931 epic "Where Love Feared to Tread with Angels".

Finally (for today), the books that kept me awake at night, tucked under the covers with a flashlight, for most of my pre-adolescence:

If I were ever given three wishes from a magical genie that would appear from rubbing my toilet bowl "just right", one of those wishes would totally be to have my life be like a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. The other two would probably involve winning the lottery and magical underpants, but that's neither here nor there.

I'll dig out more later, once the musty smell subsides.

Happy Tuesday, my little adventure-seeking gud spellrs. Happy Tuesday.

XO

Butter my muffin

I'm running late, but here's a quick recap of my weekend, in bullet form because I know you're easily confused:

• I accidentally watched 3/4 of "The Ice Princess" because I couldn't reach the remote and was too lazy to move. Couple that with my ability to watch shockingly bad movies for no apparent reason and a big glass of sauvignon blanc and that's what you get- Kim Cattrell playing a bitter, aging figure skater too busy reliving her dreams of glory through her daughter to see the mousy friend who has the potential to be a SUPERSTAR...ON ICE! Cheesy soundtrack, and no nudity or swearing, so I was completely lost.
• My cat let loose a hot smelly fart directly on my arm. It felt as gross as it smelled.
  
• While I was watching shitty movies, I was reading a Marie Claire magazine from September '08 (yes, that's how far behind I am, but dammit I'm reading them all and getting my money's worth!). They had an interview with that nice Obama Barak fellow, but I don't think he's got a chance in hell of winning the election, in my opinion. They also had some nice fashion ideas for Christmas. Maybe that $3500 purse is finally on sale by now...
• I painted my husband's office for him while he was out of town to watch hockey. Yes, unfortunately you read that right. I sure hope he likes unicorns and rainbows as much as I do.
  
• I made muffins:

They were from this cookbook. I have been craving them for weeks, but I remember them being more awesome than they seemed. But still, they're pretty fucking good and maybe I built them up in my mind too much, Like, "Holy crap those are the best muffins in the history of muffins in the history of the WORLD!" sort of too much. Lemon on top of lemon on top of lemon with a little ginger. I highly recommend this book if you like baking and are willing to try some more "involved" recipes.

That's it for now as I'm not just a little late, I'm moving into "embarrassingly" late territory with every second that passes. Sorry for stealing this monumentally boring three minutes from you, and no- you can't cop a feel as payback.

Happy Monday, my little farty muffintops. Happy Monday.

XO