That's My Bix!

Once upon a time, I was a home party maniac.

Mary Kaye ‘ 1 party
Creative Memories (which is for scrapbooking, in case you’re wondering) ‘ 1 party

Tupperware- 4 parties.
Tastefully simple (‘gourmet’ food and mixes) ‘ 1 party
Pampered Chef- the mother of all parties.

And for each and every one of these parties I threw, I had attended a previous party where I got roped into throwing a party. Then I felt obligated to attend the parties of those who booked parties off of my party. I’m surprised that I have any friends left whatsoever after conniving them into attending each high-pressure party. It must be the bribes I regularly dole out. Or maybe that’s why most of my friends are men’ I wouldn’t tempt them into having a ‘stuff’ party.

It’s a cult. A cult of ‘she who dies with the most crap wins’ mentality.

And notice that with the exception of the scrapbook party and the Mary Kay party (which I only agreed to because my friend, Mary Kaye became a Mary Kay lady and needed to book so many parties to get started.), each one of the scams can be directly linked to food. That’s how they get you. Go straight to our oral fixations and they’ve got us giving our friends guilt-complexes.

In addition to those parties I’ve thrown, I’ve also attended several Wicker parties, Candle-Lite parties (which suck), a lingerie party (which was dreadful and non-sexy beyond words. In fact, I didn’t want to even think about having sex for a month after that party.), several Home Interiors parties, a crystal party and several others I’ve undoubtedly repressed.

Nothing strikes fear in my heart faster than an invitation to a Home Interiors party. I honestly can never find a thing I’d want in my garage, let alone my home. Browsing through the catalog is like revisiting the homes of so many church ladies from my childhood, with the dusty and foul-smelling sun-faded plastic roses and the bizarre ivy trailing along the tops of fake oil paintings. Really, I’m not sure what look is desired there. Are we to believe that plant matter has spontaneously grown out of their walls and they then stuck a picture under it? Each one of my husband’s friend’s homes has exactly the same pictures, the same artificial flower montages’. It’s eerie and somehow confusing. I’m always frightened that I may dose off while there and awake unsure in which home I was. I lean more toward stark aesthetics. My living room contains mainly black and white pictures of naked trees and one is a bow of a boat. My upper lip unconsciously pulls into a sneer when I see pictures of an 1890’s mother in a garden brushing the ebony curled locks of her little white-dress wearing daughter. I wonder if in the future people will get reminiscient of our time. I’m almost certain that there will be a Pod Interiors hostess hawking pictures of a father in a crisp white undershirt, standing outside the family trailer, shooting cans off the neighbor’s garage with his kool-aid lipped but immaculately dressed son. Or daughter, because maybe we’ll be over that whole sexist thing by then.

And what do I have to show for my many parties? Strangely, not much Tupperware, as Esteban will not wash something that has attained sentient status while nestled in the far reaches of our refrigerator, thus any dubiously green leftovers get tossed, container and all. I’m now sticking with those plastic Glad containers. Bad for the environment but good for our marriage. I actually have amassed at least one thing on every page of the Pampered Chef catalog. I have an entire drawer devoted to my weird gadgets. Esteban calls that ‘the weird drawer’. Such a way with words, that man. But I love my gadgets, even the dumb ones.

From the scrapbooking, I obtained two scrapbooks that have not been opened. However, I have an excuse here, because I’m currently filling a different book and I generally don’t do the scrapbook thing when it’s warm outside. And the food from the ‘Tastefully Simple’ party is long gone.

After several crazed marathon cleaning sessions, Esteban declared that if I wanted those products, I should just PURCHASE them rather than cleaning for two days and spending $75 on food and beverages to earn $33 in free products and hostess gifts. Smart guy, that Esteban. I had never actually thought about it in those terms. It would be one thing if those parties were actually that’ PARTIES, but they are nothing but a big product demonstration full of stress and free-floating estrogen.

What they should do is have a party with fun products. Like pastel bazooka guns to take out those bitchy women in the office. Or products which will allow you to screw around at work, like a cubicle rearview mirror. Why are there no ‘computer products’ parties. God, could you imagine those sales people? Some nerdy guy with a pocket protector, talking about how their keyboards are Leet and will make you look cool.

I have no solid close to this entry, so let’s just say BAH and be done with it, shall we?

Bah!

I’m working four ten-hour shifts this week and today is my day off. Yeah, it sucks that it’s in the middle of the week, but we take turns taking off on Friday, and for some reason, we’re not supposed to take Monday off, thus I took today off.

I had planned on going to the farmer’s market today (no, this is not a repeat of Saturday’s entry, I was going to a different one in a suburb today), but I was sleeping the sleep of living dead girls everywhere and could not be bothered with the lure of fresh veggies and ruby red strawberries. Of course, now I’m regretting that whole thing, because all I’ve got to show for it is a drool-covered pillow. Note to self: must change sheets today.

Esteban does not have a day off and in a rare coincidence, is working out of the house today, so I’m here all by myself. I’m at a loss of what to do. I’d like to lounge around and rewatch ‘Bring It On’ or something fun, but then I’d be cursing my laziness later tonight. I definitely want to catch up on the laundry and get all of the garbage out to the curb (as that is All That Is Not Kitchen and has fallen to my responsibility, but not going there today), but at the same time, I’d like to scurry around town, spending money like a wild woman. Ah, such decisions. The plus side is that Esteban took the truck today, so I’m back in my cute sporty little Monte with the awesome stereo. And cup holders. And the little thing on the keyring that unlocks the door for me. God, how I love to be a spoiled diva.

That’s right. Bring it ON!

I’m so pleased with this here diary thing. I had originally started keeping it because I’m supposed to be writing more. I had gone months, nay years, with only writing technical stuff for work OR replies on HissyFit. Yesterday, I wrote two more poems. Not that I’m a poet, I consider myself a fiction/short story person, but poems seem to come easy. They are kind of like masterbation’. Just for yourself when you feel like it, not much thought put into it. Fiction is like sex’ short stories being quickies with strangers in convenience store bathrooms and novels being hot long-term relationship sex, where you both know just how to press each other’s buttons. And by ‘buttons’, I mean ‘naughty bits’.

Esteban had been harping at me to ‘Just write, dammit!’, but I, if you have not already figured it out from this here thing, am extremely lazy and unmotivated. Thus, writing in this diary every day has been an exercise in discipline. And it seems to be helping, so I’m so thankful. And I’m especially thankful to those of you who are actually READING this here thing, because sometimes you are what keeps me on task.

You like me! You REALLY like me!!!!! sobbbbb!

Um, ok. I’ll stop now.

So since I’m feeling all ‘writerly’ today, I thought I’d share my favorite poem of all time.

It’s about poop.

This should surprise NO ONE!!!!

However, I went looking for the book that had ‘Poop’ in it (‘The Maverick Poets’ I believe it’s called’ it had a black cover) and now I can’t find it. I believe it to be in Computer Room #1 which is where all my stuff has been’well, stuffed, but I had no luck finding it.

I did however, just purchase an entire book of Gerald Locklin’s poems. It doesn’t have ‘Poop’ in it, though. But here’s a different poem that I like also. Not as much as ‘Poop’, because it doesn’t have any reference to poop. But it’s pretty good.

a tyrant for our times

it’s in his novel ham on rye now
but I remember bukowski telling
a long time ago
how his father used to beat him.
and when he’d turn to his mother for help.
she would intone, ‘the father is always right.’

I liked the way it sounded
And so, even though I don’t beat my kids
I do like to tell them
‘the father is always right.’

They tell me to get fucked.

By Gerald Locklin from the firebird poems

It’s no ‘Poop’ but I like it.

Esteban just called and wants to take me to lunch. I suppose I must go get dressed now.

Mwah!

Have you seen these?

The quest for poop
Lazy days and Sundays always make me sleepy

Will taking amoxicillin get rid of my clematis?

It’s not over until your brother counts the votes

Feral Girl raised by wolves desires Rouge Pulp lipstick and some hair gel
Nothing but a gimmick, baby, just a gimmick
Magic 8 Ball says: It is unclear
All I want is a room somewhere… wouldn’t it be luverly?

Yesterday, I was bored, bored, bored. Esteban and I decided to go to Appleton as they are apparently the only city civilized enough to have a Barnes and Noble within 80 miles of here. Well, Green Bay has only just reached that level of civility as a B&N is rising out of the dust across from our mall, but it doesn’t yet have important things, like a roof. Thus Appleton it was.

They’d better watch out when they finish that Barnes & Noble here. I may spend entire weeks sitting in an over-stuffed chair, drinking Blackberry & Sage iced tea, illegally reading many periodicals and expensive photography books. In fact, I would be able to actually live at Barnes & Noble if they sold lip protection. They have everything else that I need to survive other than Blistex. I prefer the Ultimate Moisture stuff in the blue tube. Can’t live without that.

So I made a deal with Esteban, as I was starving. We could go to Appleton, but we’d have to go to lunch at my current favorite restaurant, The Machine Shed. It’s this farm-themed restaurant. Instead of soup and salad before your meal, you get cottage cheese and coleslaw and banana bread. There are big jugs of ice water on every table and little Mason jars to drink from. And all the wait staff wear overalls and John Deere hats. But that’s not why I go: I go because I’ve yet to have a bad meal there. Their mashed potatoes are the best thing known to man. God, I could go for some more right now. But Esteban has decided that he doesn’t like that place. He actually doesn’t like going anywhere that he didn’t think of first. He’s been grumpy about eating in Appleton ever since Lonestar closed. That place gave you peanuts that you’d eat and throw the shells on the floor which is very appealing to me. The idea of messing up someone else’s place’ I love that. But then they stopped that because they got sued or some shit. And they also wrapped up their leftovers in tinfoil and shaped it to look like a steer’s head. I always made sure that both Esteban and I had leftovers, just to get the little silver packages which looked like cows. Then I’d mock little discussions between them. Moo. Mooo Mooo. Moooooooo. Trust me. It was a riot. But now they’re gone, so I am settling for drinking out of Mason jars. It’s not as fun, but oh well.

This is not to say that if you invite me over to your house, I will willy-nilly throw my food on the floor. Don’t get the wrong impression. But I do so love it.

We ate lunch there and then had a big book binge at Barnes & Noble. Then I talked Esteban into letting me shop at The Avenue, which he was fine with, since he had oodles of books to read. I picked up another set of jammies which look like clothes, as well as a clearanced shirt and shorts. Vg.

Then back home, where I put on my new jammies and spent the rest of the day wearing them. And got very bored. The allure of spending most of the day in your jammies wears off rather quickly. And I didn’t feel like reading. I felt like being pandered to. So I did my Poetica-Collab assignment and also wrote another poem online. Wow. That was the most poetry writing in one day I’ve done since college. I guess I should get bored more often.

I was so bored, I actually watched ‘Saturday Night Live&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- how sad is that?

Our clematis bloomed on our porch. I don’t often talk about my clematis, because somewhere along the line, I got the word ‘clematis’ confused with ‘clamydia’ and now whenever I think of it, the word ‘clamydia’ pops into my head first, so I’m always afraid of saying sentences like ‘Oh, you should take a look at my clamydia, it’s blooming right now!’ or ‘I’ll have to train my clamydia better’ right now it’s dangerous’ someone might trip over it. But it looks very nice from the road.’

I’ve been trying to make it grow up the porch, like a cool viney thing, but it’s only up to the second step and I’ve had it for three years. It bloomed but then something ate all the petals. Esteban went outside one night and said that there were tons of earwigs all over it, munching on the petals. I hope they get clamydia.

Have you seen these?

Will taking amoxicillin get rid of my clematis?

It’s not over until your brother counts the votes

Feral Girl raised by wolves desires Rouge Pulp lipstick and some hair gel

Nothing but a gimmick, baby, just a gimmick

Magic 8 Ball says: It is unclear

All I want is a room somewhere… wouldn’t it be luverly?

I had a whole entry about the farmer’s market here in town and how I was going to go to it this morning but overslept, but then Internet Explorer ate it and it was gone. And that pisses me right the hell off.

It wasn’t that good anyway. Well, better than what you’re reading right now, but still not that good.

The results of the poll showed that (at the time of posting) there’s really no accurate way of measuring why you’re here. The two most picked reasons were “Uncle Bob Sent Me” and “Just ‘Cause Damnit!” with 13 votes a piece. The next most popular response was “Um, 42”, which was a reference to Douglas Adams and shows what a true geek I am, says Esteban. If you “got” that reference, Esteban says you’re a geek. Hey, don’t feel so bad, I REFERENCED it so that makes me a total geek. Also, I made a joke in Eloi’s guestbook in HTML about ceasing to be a dork… the very fact that I found that funny, Esteban postulates, makes me a complete geek. He wishes. He just doesn’t want to feel like the sole geek in Rancho Weetabix. He is frightened sometimes by my coolness and endeavors to take me down a peg. At least this is what I’m telling myself today. And if you visit Eloi’s guestbook, make sure to sign it, as that is only polite.

Anywhoo, the next most popular response was “For the Microwave Pork Rinds”, but if you look at it on the results poll, it looks like it’s saying “This is not the answer”. That’s because I made the mistake of getting my poll from the ballot creators down in Florida. Sure, it was cheap, but what the hell? So, if you thought you voted for “Microwave Pork Rinds” and found out that you voted for “This is not the Answer”, my apologies but official ballots are final and the officials feel that what you REALLY MEANT to vote for was “This is not the answer”. Sorry, Microwave Pork Rinds had zero votes. If you’re questioning this, I had my brother recount the ballots.

“Naked Pictures of Allyson Hannigan” is the number one Google search that hits this website. My diary now comes up as third if you search for “Naked Allyson Hannigan”, so I’m going for number one, baby! It looks like only one of you was here for those. If I ever run into any pictures of naked Willow action, I’ll certainly post a link.

Two of you were here to see if I was writing about you. We know that one of the voters was Scott and I’m assuming that the other voter was Mark, because I know those two boys read this here thang, but maybe not.

And only one vote for “poop”. Which is disturbing. Because that was MY vote when I tested the poll. And I love entries about poop. I think that there might be a Weetabix Diary Drinking Game in the making. If she makes a poop joke, take a drink. If she lusts after Russell Crowe, do a shot. If she talks about someone else’s boobs, drink a beer. If she talks about her own boobs, do three shots. If she writes “let me tell you”, take a slow long drink of beer.

It just occurred to me that I don’t know if Drinking Games are a universal thing, or only an Alcholic-Training thing inherent here in Wisconsin. Hmmmm. Oh well. I assure you that there is such a thing. The point being that you get very drunk playing these games. There’s no winner or loser, just people throwing up into their boyfriend’s laps and such.

But I’m still going to write about poop, even if I’m the only one who appreciates it.

Just ’cause, dammit!

Just had to edit this to add: after writing this entry I went back to the bedroom but Esteban was already awake and getting dressed. I laid back down and proceeded to ungulate and stretch and be somewhat “Sex Kitten”ish while we talked. He finished getting dressed and then proceeded to leave the room.

I said, “What this? I’m lying here, looking all luscious and you didn’t even touch my bootay?” Because he can’t really resist touching the bootay.

“You know,” Esteban said, in his voice which meant that he’d obviously been thinking about it the whole time, “You call me overly-sexed when I grope you and then I don’t touch you and you WANTED me to grope you. I like our arrangement. I’m confused all the time. I don’t know what to expect. Congratulations. You’ve completely left me clueless.” and thus walked out of the room, laughing.

Very very funny. Very funny that it seems so elementary and logical to me, yet he is completely befuddled. Note to guys: when your girl is undulating on the bed, wearing her cute pj’s which could pass for scant clothing, looking into your eyes and licking her lips, feel free to grope. When your chick is plucking her eyebrows, reaching for a can of beans at the grocery store, or talking on the phone to her grandmother, this would be the non-groping time. Class dismissed.

Have you seen these?

It’s not over until your brother counts the votes

Feral Girl raised by wolves desires Rouge Pulp lipstick and some hair gel

Nothing but a gimmick, baby, just a gimmick

Magic 8 Ball says: It is unclear

All I want is a room somewhere… wouldn’t it be luverly?

gel I’ve noticed a disturbing trend each morning this summer. Every morning the alarm goes off and I get up and turn it off. Then I flop back into bed or get up, walk through the house, go to the bathroom, then walk back into the bedroom, presumably to get dressed, but instead fall back into bed to sleep the sleep of living dead girls everywhere. Then I wake up super late for work, throw on whatever is handy, put my makeup on in the car and speed off to work.

Today, I look like some kind of feral child. My hair is all crazy because I slept on wet hair (taking a shower at night allows me more valuable minutes of stolen sleep in the morning), so it is sticking out at strange desperate angles. I have eye crud that I only minutes ago removed from my eye. I put my makeup on in the car, which sounds extreme but I am validating it by the fact that it IS natural light and therefore is oh-so-much-more effective for makeup application. I am not wearing socks. I also have a sticky tape stripe down the middle of my chest where the sticker used to be on my $7 T-shirt.

I was obviously raised by wolves. Want some crackle?

Last night I had a dream about Scott was touching many, many boobs. Then he was covered in boobs. He had them everywhere. Weird dream.

(Thought I’d throw you a bone, dude.)

Some more thoughts for the list: Kenneth Branagh. Now there’s a hottie. However, I’ve heard disturbing rumors about his ego and he also said some entirely nasty things about his ex-wife Emma Thompson, who fails at any movie set beyond 1930. Yet, his ‘St. Crispin’s Day’ speech in ‘Henry V’ makes me a little weak in the knees.

Also, Edward Norton is again raising my eyebrows. What a yummy morsel of inner conflict that man is. But then there’s the Heather Graham issue. She dicked Dirk Diggler and never even removed her rollerskates once. Ok, that was a movie, but still, she seemed very comfortable with doing that. My lesbian friend M.K. was completely in lust with Rollergirl, but I just don’t see the fascination.

My. “Dicked Dirk Diggler”…. wouldn’t my high school AP English teacher be proud. Both alliteration and assonance in one glorious phrase. Mrs. Appel, even though you were a complete and total bitch, I still learned something from you.

Last night, I mentioned to Esteban that I wanted to watch ‘Friends’.

He said ‘I think you’ve seen this one, Weetabix.’

‘Which one is it?’ I asked.

‘The one where one of them does something stupid and then they try to keep it from the rest of them and wacky hijinx ensue.’

So I made him read me the information from the cable guide. ‘Winona Ryder pops into Central Perk in a repeat from March that proves once and for all that Rachel does indeed have a racy side. Ryder plays Melissa, Rachel’s sexy sorority sister, who may or may not have shared a secret smooch with Ms. Green at a sangria-fueled frat party. But when Phoebe refuses to accept Rachel’s claims of the illicit liplock (‘You’re so…vanilla’), it’s up to Melissa to clear the air. However, Melissa’s memory of the night in question turns out to be just as questionable, forcing Rachel to put her money—and Melissa—where her mouth is. Meanwhile, Chandler has a hard time picking out his wedding tux after Ross rents one worn by a former Batman.’

‘Was I right?’ He kept asking, laughing. Fine. Whatever. However, I think he stole that line actually from Chandler, who was talking about ‘Three’s Company’ in a different episode.

And he says that ‘Friends’ is a useless waste of time. AHA!!!!!

I think I might be a horrible friend. My friend who is going to have a baby any minute had a baby shower. And I forgot about it. And now I don’t know what to do. She hasn’t called me to yell at me for not coming, but I’m certain that she’s very upset or hurt or whatever. It wasn’t my intention to not go, I just completely forgot about it. I should call her. But then, this is the girl who moved to Seattle and neglected to even tell me or call me and say ‘good-bye, I’m moving to Seattle, see ya.’ I guess she was very upset that I didn’t ask her to be in the formal wedding party at our wedding, but I did ask her to read a very large part of the ceremony. Honestly, at that point I wasn’t very close with her and we were having a smallish wedding. Perhaps in retrospect I should have asked her to be a bridesmaid and just had an additional male usher, but then, hindsight is 360 or something like that. So I’m just a horrible friend. With feral hair.

I am the weakest link. Goodbye.

Have you seen these?

Feral Girl raised by wolves desires Rouge Pulp lipstick and some hair gel

Nothing but a gimmick, baby, just a gimmick

Magic 8 Ball says: It is unclear

All I want is a room somewhere… wouldn’t it be luverly?