That's My Bix!

I was going to replicate an entry from a diary of mine, circa 1988, detailing in 65 items or so what I felt was the perfect man. I find them humorous. Especially considering that Esteban is definately breaking so many of these rules.

However, I can’t and it’s all my nomadic husband’s fault.

You see, when we purchased our four-bedroom house, we took the largest bedroom for ourselves. Then I claimed the next biggest room for my study and Esteban decided that he wanted the room next to the bathroom (which is the smallest in the house). We’ll call that Computer Room #1. About two years ago, he decided that #1 was too small and he wanted two desks. That meant kicking the cats out of the empty bedroom (ok, the cats had their own bedroom, don’t look at me like that!) and moving all his crap into that room (which was quite a feat in itself and required removing all the powder blue shag carpeting, replacing the moldings/trim and all the outlets and wiring it for better electricity). Great. That became Computer Room #2. It’s a lovely room, too. It has a great view of our backyard and the rose bush and it’s very nice and cool. It is to be noted here that he only took the stuff he needed from Room #1, leaving several bookshelves, speakers, etc. Fine, we can turn that into a library. This will be fine.

Then he changed jobs and must now work from home. That required us to put in a serious network for computer crap and added two more computers to our mix. Room #2 simply wasn’t large enough. Enter Weetabix The Martyr who suggests that she actually likes Room #2 because of its lovely windows and private view of the backyard. She’d be happy to switch with Esteban. So Esteban packed up all of Weetabix’s stuff and moved it all into Room #1, along with all of the leftovers from when he had been in there. It was to be ‘temporary’. Then he repainted what is now Computer Room #3 and I put up a lovely businesslike wallpaper border. It’s very nice. However, he again left stuff in Room #2, including two 25 inch televisions, a desk which is bolted to the floor, roughly 25 miles of cable, and what could possibly be the World’s Ugliest and Most Uncomfortable Recliner.

That was almost a year ago.

I am sitting in Computer Room #3 as I write this. The room that used to be mine. ‘My’ room is exactly as it was left 10 months previous. And all my stuff (a bookcase, a work table, a desk that my great-grandfather made me, an antique steamer trunk, two large bags full of material, an electronic piano, and 12 boxes of stuff) is packed into the 11×10 Computer Room #1 along with the aforementioned three bookcases, large box speaker and god knows what else is in there.

Thus, I can only get about three feet into the room. I found my ‘School House Rock!’ cd and several of my really good pieces of jewelry that I thought I had lost. But I can’t find my teenage journal.

But it was funny. Trust me.

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Last night, I did the SingThing again. I sang ‘I’ll Be’ for the first time ever in public. And it was good. I was surprised, because normally I get very nervous trying out ‘guy songs’. The song has to be just right otherwise it’s too low for me. Maybe Edwin McCain is a femmy boy. Doesn’t matter. I love that song. The rest of his songs aren’t all that.

No frat boys lavishing attention on me though. I love it when that happens. I think it was because I had an ‘I don’t care’ attitude. Not while I was on stage, just in general. Plus, I was wearing my wedding ring, so that might have been some of it. It’s not that I normally don’t wear it, it’s just that I usually take it off as soon as I get home from work and I didn’t work yesterday, thus I was still wearing it when I went out.

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Please have a happy and safe Fourth of July if you are American and if you’re not, still have a happy and safe Fourth of July, as well as a Fifth of July and a Sixth of July.

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Ok, I’m being a complete copycat and copying Astralfrog’s diary, which I guess is copying someone elses. That’s me, just a big conformist lemming, going with the flow. Actually, I started looking through my sent items and was laughing at my weird verbage and thought I’d share, but I got the notion to do so from Astralfrog. Just a big copy cat, but here goes…. in random order.

Actually, I’m in a bi-amorous relationship with two very understanding men… but neither of them does the dishes.

I did not know the thing about the mustard greens. You may have saved me from uncertain death or discomfort.

Sophia Coppola freaks me out.

Forgive me, I’m a Wisconsinite. We’re not good at acting ‘hip’.

Yes, your email is going to be stenciled on my living room wall. The ‘P.S’ email will be in the dining room. I’m encorporating them into a fresco theme we’ve got going. The bathroom is “ain’t it cool news”. So rest assured that your emails are to be treasured for generations.

I shall definately smack any friends who get out of line today.

I can’t wait for FatGirl undies! That kicks butt (no pun intended).

I got a little tear… right there. I was verklempt for a moment. Then I recovered and wrote this reply.

(Talking about Wap) Folks have been known to hoard the leftovers for years. Virginities have been lost with the leftovers. Crimes have been committed and I was forced to become a witness for the defense. Yada yada yada. Needless to say, it becomes very potent yet still drinkable with age.

Maybe you need to go out for Chinese food and eat it in the bathtub? Or get a manicure? Or turn up the music really loud and drive really fast?

I’ll get back to you next week (barring attacks by locusts).

It’s a darned good thing we don’t eat with our feet, as we’d all be sick all the time.

I thought at first they were telling me I had CELLULITE, which I already knew (and I thought that was rather personal)

I’ve completely given up the herbal life shake thing. Tasted like loose-leaf paper.

Anyway, it’s baby fever here. I know three people who are pregnant, and two who are trying. The girl who moved to Seattle, has moved back to town. She’s also pregnant. ARRRRGGGGHHHH! And then sometimes I think that I would like a little girl, but then the feeling passes. Much like a bowel movement.

I could see you turning this into a prose poem on a larger scale, not necessarily more about DC, but more about the word pictures that you painted. Word pictures…. that’s how I see it, not a plot per say, but more sensual imagery and emoting feelings. On a much lighter note, did I ever send you the pictures of the big plastic chicken?

Having your period sucks and having to use a port-a-piss sucks too, but then to combine those two elements is nearly inhuman. You can bet that a man came up with the outdoor blue plastic johns and felt pretty proud of himself, since it was oh-so-much-more-civilized when compared to using the nearest tree. Of course, if men got their periods, everyone would be given 5 days vacation per month in addition to the 2 weeks per year. And abortions would be doled out at McDonald’s drive through windows.

Imagine the panic: oh my god, I forgot to pack the Q-Tips! Of course, the residents of Washington DC have dirty ears and have never seen a Q-Tip before.

Things I learned in Key West: barracuda don’t bite people; don’t go snorkeling when the ocean is choppy because you’ll hyper-ventillate; dolphins are mystical; I feel pretty unimpressive next to drag queens, since they are better at being women than I am; Aveda’s hair stuff does some wonderful things; five days of eating gourmet foods will make you feel greasy and leave you with lots of zits; drinks like Rum Runners and Conch Coolers taste really good but leave you sick to your stomach the next day; Conch Fritters and Conch Chowder, while being a local delicacy, are gross and conch should not be eaten unless very desperately hungry or possibly on Survivor; don’t make phone calls, even to 1-800 numbers from your hotel room, because they’ll charge you a LOT; fruit is much better closer to the source; just because Martha Stewart eats Uni (raw sea urchin) doesn’t mean that it tastes good; it is possible to find a swimming suit that I feel comfortable in.

Instead I went to get my car washed and thought I’d try one of the automated, sit in your car and wait, gas station kind of deals. I punch my code in, begin to drive in and then it sprays my car for about two seconds, pre-washing, and then stops. Ok, I think, my car is soaking. And soaking. And soaking. Five minutes later, I pull out my cell phone because both of the garage doors (in and out) are closed and I am effectively trapped in the non-working car wash. I called information but I realized that I didn’t know the exact name of the gas station, just that it was a Citgo. They gave me a strange number and I called it and it was for a gas station in Appleton. Uh, no. Tried information again and they couldn’t find any Citgo on the street I thought we were on, but just then I realized that I had my receipt, which would have the name of the gas station on it, which it did plus the phone number, so I thanked the information lady and hung up and called the gas station and said “Hey, let me out of your crappy car wash, you ignorant cock-sucking bastards!” Luckily for them, I had a Diet Coke in my car, or I would have been much more cranky.

For my penance, I will allow you to address me as “Wenchy” the next time we see each other and I in turn will address you as “Master of all that is Excellent” or some other title of honor.

Lancome is the only foundation that I’ve ever found that is my exact shade. I wear Macquicontrole in Clair. I like the French names for colors way better than the English version. I hate going and asking for “Pale as Hell”.

Oh my god, you have all the batteries that you could ever wish for!!!

Esteban’s new monitor is a 21 inch. It’s ginormous (which, by the way, is bigger than enormous). I’m afraid to sit too near it as it may wobble and crash upon me.

It’s kind of like riding on the freeway and then switching to those little cars at the amusement park, you know the kind with the little bell on a string and they go around in a circle.

It snowed here on Saturday. Thought you’d like to know. I apparently HAVE gained the appropriate fat layer.

Our office water tastes like acidic snot.

Balloon fiesta? Explain? I’m imagining a bunch of dozing people wearing balloon hats. I suppose that would be more of a balloon siesta

The ear mold stuff smelled like bubble gum… did I tell you that? It left an oil spill in my head.

Got all my hair cut off on Saturday. The mid hair cut of last month was only an emotional barrier between the extremely long hair and the extremely short hair. Now it’s sort of a “Meg Ryan” but not golden or perky and without Russell Crowe.

I have a stuffed sheep. Her name is Lanolin. She has a bell around her neck. My cat Tilly is sometimes incensed by her arrogance and beats her up. I’ll hear a madly ringing bell and I’ll check it out and Tilly has Lanolin in a death grip. She sees me and then she takes off. Poor Lanolin. She never whines about this abuse.

They make me feel like the funky funk.

Maybe next Sunday we should go there and steal his pants?

Various estrogens which have free range around my body have decided to give me a monstrous zit on the tip of my nose. Zit is really too small of a word. Blimple. It’s a blimple.

If the flavor starts with cranberry it goes to Family and hence Cranberry subtotal, but not if it is cranberry lemonade because then it goes to Family and then Lemonade subtotal, (unless of course it’s cranberry punch lemonade, which would put it back into kids, unless of course it’s our old favorite Crystal Light, which puts it back into the Adult category!!!!)And I have to write the booylean programming for that. I ended up specifying every flavor of punch, which sucked, because there’s a lot of punch out there. Island punch, tropical punch, raspberry punch, toe jam punch, etc. I am not paid enough to know this much about juice. So just make my life easier and don’t buy BrandX juice’s under any circumstance. If we all work together on this, we can show these assholes that they shouldn’t be so overly concerned about flavors!

Why does he leave an onion chopped up in the kitchen? Did his mother always pick it up for him? And did she do that because her mother always did that for her brother and father? Why is this somehow our responsibility? Is the absence of an additional X chromosome somehow linked to the desire to have a clean house but not the desire to actually contribute toward its cleanliness?

So many women are socialized to not think of themselves. Calgon has made a fortune by telling women “you can allow yourself to be pampered if you use Calgon”. I always am reminded of my great-grandmother who always took the smallest piece of cake, took the least comfortable chair, wore thread-bare clothing when her husband and children had nice stuff. She has been commended for this by my grandmother, her daughter. I always thought she was nuts. Didn’t she WANT the biggest piece of chocolate cake? Was she crazy? I took it gladly, but now I feel guilty about it. Why my guilt for something that was offered freely? I think women have been socialized to be martyr’s and domestic help. Little girls are given plastic tea sets and toy babies. They are taught to diaper and do the dishes by the age of four.

And if you want to make apricot jam, then go ahead but it doesn’t have to be a statement about your life. Sometimes, it’s just jam.

I love my new email account! It’s magically delicious!!!!

I feel lonely. Please sign my guestbook.. Come on… everyone’s doing it!

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Have you Seen These?

2001-07-02Come on… try it… everyone’s doing it!

2001-07-02 If you’re gonna spew, spew into this.

2001-07-01 Huzzah! Lady Weetabix approaches on her trusted steed, Vomitorium!

2001-06-29 Journey to the center of Mulletdom

2001-06-28 Is you is or is you ain’t my Savior?

2001-06-27 Mattel introduces Slutty ‘Ho Barbie!

2001-06-26 More Fart humor at Casa Weetabix

Phew.

What a weekend.

Ganged up in Joel and Cheri’s borrowed Chevy Blazer. Naturally, Joel was driving, therefore Cheri sat in the wifely passenger sit, relegating Esteban and myself to the “kid” positions in the back seat. Which sucked. Those things are not meant for people who are over 5’6″ tall. It was like crouching the whole time. Then we started moving. Apparently, with the “sport suspension” and the fact that the SUV is taller than it is wide, the backseat should be renamed “The Vomitorium”. We were not even out of Green Bay before the motion sickness started and my mouth started it’s “pre-puke” watering. I believe my face was actually turning a lovely shade of puce. Naturally, Joel and Cheri were fine, as the front seat is not as bouncy and rocky as the back. After putting up with my performance of “Crouching Rider Hurling Dragon” for ten miles, Esteban forced Cheri and I to switch seats so I wouldn’t spew onto the back of her head.

I think that SUV’s were designed for short athletic types. Maybe teenagers. I don’t know. There was absolutely no leg room whatsoever. I thought that it had been bad in the backseat, but in the front, I actually could not even move my feet. They were just stuffed straight forward. The suspension wasn’t much better up there, but at least the mouth-watering stopped. However, from that vantage point, I got to see how close we came to actually tipping over when we took a couple of corners too quickly, so that was a down side.

Finally, got to the hotel. The “Executive Inn” in Bristol. Our room had no curtains. Also the remote didn’t work. Cheri and I left to go in search of ribbon for a hat that the LadyAtWork made to go with my dress (after Carissa insisted that she do so… thanks Carissa! You rock, chica!). We travelled throughout Kenosha in search of peach ribbon or any store which might have something resembling ribbon. At that point, I would have been happy with fishing line even. We found a gardening store and got some there.

Then, returning back to the hotel, we passed a White Castle. Living up in Da Great White Nort’, I do not have exposure to White Castle hamburgers, thus I forced Cheri to go through the drive through. I purchased 10 burgers (or should I say “burgerlettes”?) Mit Fromage. The White Castle staff did not know what “Mit Fromage” meant, so I had to translate. Such peasants. See, I was trying on the haughty Renassiance nobel act at Blanc Ch’teau. I’m such the efficient, non?

An aside here, though: it disturbed me at first that a Decaburger cost less than a 12-pack of Diet Coke. Then I saw how big they were and realized that I was still paying too much, so no loss.

When we returned to my hotel room, we found that our room had turned into Ren Party Central. Joel had made a run to the local liquor store (the nice thing about Wisconsin, it may be hard to find peach ribbon, but there is no shortage of liquor) and purchased beer, Absolut and Red Bull. Thus, all were drinking Red Bull and vodka when we arrived. For those of you who haven’t heard of Red Bull, it’s an energy drink that tastes like liquid Sweet Tarts. And it has twice the caffeine of Mountain Dew. It’s like alchemy, though, as the upper effects of the caffeine interact with the downer effects of the vodka, leaving every Ren Partier in a strange and bizzarre state of being relaxed and also hyperactive.

As I am not a huge drinker, I wandered down to the hotel “Lounge” and they had Karaoke going on. Oh, and I got carded.

Maybe I need to repeat that:

I GOT CARDED!!!!!!!

Twice.

Oh yeah. Uh-huh.

I signed up during a break, figuring I’d belt a song out and then go back up to my room. They had a good selection of songs, so I chose “Gypsy” by Fleetwood Mac. Not my favorite song, but I had a cold, so I figured I could pull off the whole Goaty quality of Stevie Nicks. Then some old drunk guy gets up and does “Friends in Low Places” and it’s awful. Then a drunk chick with no bra gets up and does “Me and Bobby McGee” and it’s dreadful. Yet the sad, sorry people of Kenosha are cheering like she’s Janis Joplin reincarnated.

Then I go up.

I start to sing and I’m not making this up, the whole bar stopped talking. I’m not saying I’m a good singer. I’m not. I’m not that good, seriously. But in comparison to a bunch of dead skunks, a pair of dirty gym socks smells pretty good. Ok, that metaphor didn’t really work, but you know what I meant.

In the middle of my song, some guy comes up and tells me I sing great. That’s great, buddy, but get the fuck off the stage, ‘k? Freak. Then in a bunch of people start “WhOOOOOOOOOOOO”ing me. During the instrumental. Fine, whoooing is good. Jumping up and giggling when you don’t have a bra on is not good. Is there no bra store in the greater Bristol/Kenosha metropolitan area? Why must all of these overly-endowed women wander about without a bra on. It’s not attractive. It’s not even good for your breasts to be hanging like that. They get all saggy and stretch-marky. Sheesh, people. I was alarmed, really.

Then, while I’m singing, a group of people come and claim the table I was sitting at. That’s it. Enough of that shit. I finished my song and walked out of the bar, to the cheers and applause of the drunken braless in the bar.

Back up the room and kick out the revellers and go to sleep. Or try, as the industrial 4000 watt light from the parking lot is shining directly into our curtainless room. I was ruthless. I made Esteban sleep on the side facing the window. He didn’t care, he was pleasantly tired and yet able to go for a twenty-mile run.

The morning, we woke to a blistering hot day. It was already 80 degrees at 9:00 A.M. The plan was that several of us who were dressing up would meet in our garb at the front desk at 8:30 A.M. Esteban and I set our alarm for 7:00 A.M, just so we could accomplish all the prepping ahead of time. We should have known better. Every single thing we’ve ever done with Joel and Cheri, they are not on time. So we’re down at the front desk at 8:30 A.M. I’m in my whole Renaissance getup. And it’s hot. And humid. AT 8:45 A.M, I stroll over to Joel and Cheri’s room. They’re not dressed and Cheri is still in the shower. Fine. So we wait. Then they come and strangely Brian and Kim are not there yet. Then they show up but Kim isn’t wearing her stuff. We have at that point made the decision to not wear our stuff because it was so fucking hot, but we wanted to take some pictures of us in our clothes. Kim throws her skirt on over her shorts and we take some pictures. Which look dumb because Joel left his “Risky Business” sunglasses on during the picture. Duh. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that at the time, but I got the pictures back and now I’m just shaking my head.

By this point, breakfast is screwed so we drive through McDonald’s. I’m pretty happy about this because that means I get a big healthy helping of the world’s best Diet Coke. We waited in the drive-thru for 30 minutes. It sucked. It was hot out.

Then off to the Faire. Which was very fun and very Renaissance-y. We spent too much money. We watched a lot of jousty action.

All Photos are courtesy of Cheri because she’s Da Bomb.

It was very hot. The entire Faire ran out of water. Oddly enough, they didn’t run out of beer, which cost $4, $2 more than the water. Esteban and I forgot to eat anything all day. Our main goal was to infect the Renaissance Faire with an obnoxious “catch phrase”. Whenever they’d say “Huzzah!”, we’d say “Huzzzaaaaaaaaaaah” like the “Whasssssup?” guys. It’s very very sad but we found it funny.

Oh, and at one point, one of the Faire employees was trying to get people to visit the Tarot booth and he approached me. “Mi Lady, you must visit the Tarot booth or I shall flog you most righteously.”

I looked at him and raised one eyebrow and said “Promise?” in my best Marilyn Monroe/BDSM voice. He was completely silenced. And maybe a little scared.

Around 3 o’clock (3 hours before the end), Esteban and I were beat. We agreed to meet up with the rest of our party at the cars, where we had coolers full of tepid water. Esteban and I were Renaissanced out, so we sat in the car with the air-conditioner running

Oh, yeah, and during the day, he got stabbed by someone’s sword. Some guy was walking around with his sword unprotected and backed into Joel’s leg. You have to hand it to Joel, though, as he reacted perfectly. He said something like “Good sir! You have wounded me most grievously!” and the dressed-up Renaissancy guy went “Wha–?” And Joel pointed to his bleeding leg and they guy says instead, “Oh, yeah, I couldn’t find my scabbard.” So fucking tape the end of your sword like the rest of the people there. It’s a weapon, asshole. That could have been a little kid.

Then we started home and stopped at a fish restaurant for some fish or something. The restaurant was split up into three different “restaurants”: the pub, the Landing (whatever that was) and the “Main Dining Room”. Each had different menus with different prices. I lobbied for the pub, but Joel wanted “a good meal” so we went the expensive route.

The special of that restaurant was Fish on a Plank. They take an oak plank and cook the fish directly on that. It gives it a flavor I guess. I think you have to be a fish lover to understand what that flavor was because I have no clue. Tasted like fish to me. Good fish, but still fish.

Then we saw their desserts. They had this wonderful lemon merangue pie. So high. So glorious. The lemon curd tumbled out onto the plate like only fresh lemon curd will do. The merangue was this wonderful light yet sweet foamy wonderland inside your mouth. The crust! Oh, the crust! So tender and flaky, very similiar to a croissant.

I think Martha Stewart was cooking that night. Fish on a plank. I could see her doing a show on that, with her weird, pause-speak thing that she does.

“Here we have a ….luscious…. whitefish cooked and SERVED on…this…BEAUUUUUTIFUL charred….hardwood oak plank.”

It was a good thing. It was a good thing that Esteban didn’t see the bill, as it came to $90 with the tip. For the two of us.

Then we were waiting in the pub for Joel to push a turtle head out, and I notice the Pub menu sitting there. Planked fish: $10.95 rather than the $20 in the next room.

Christ.

So the lesson here: if you ever eat at a restaurant where they have several “restaurants” with different menus, take the cheapest. It’s the same fucking food. Exactly the same.

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In preparation of the Ren Fair, I had used some “self-tanner” so that my legs didn’t look like pale winter ass skin. Apparently, I did not apply it evenly, because my skin came out looking like I had been playing in the mud. I just told people I had leprosy. It makes for easy crowd-navigation when people think you’ve got a communicable disease.

Leprosy: It’s a good thing.

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Have you Seen These?

2001-07-01 Huzzah! Lady Weetabix approaches on her trusted steed, Vomitorium!

2001-06-29 Journey to the center of Mulletdom

2001-06-28 Is you is or is you ain’t my Savior?

2001-06-27 Mattel introduces Slutty ‘Ho Barbie!

2001-06-26 More Fart humor at Casa Weetabix

2001-06-26 Poet-Collab: Tea Poem
2001-06-25 – SUBLIMINAL {new} MESSAGES {bra} REVEALED {needed}!!!

Did you know that I’m just a small town girl living in a lonely world?

And I’m going to see JOURNEY, baby!!!

Woooooooo!!!!! MULLET ROCK!!!!

I’m so stoked! Carissa and I are going together. It’s the only concert we could possibly both attend and enjoy. We are polar opposites when it comes to music. Much like Donnie and Marie, she’s a little bit country and I’m a little bit rock and roll.

Ok, she’s so country, she twangs when she walks. And I’m not really ‘rock and roll’, I’m more eclectic. I like exactly two country songs that are not sung by Miss Patsy Cline. But we both agree on Journey. After discussing this at lunch yesterday, over copious amounts of Garlic Cheese Biscuits at Red Lobster, we were both head-banging and making the ‘devil/rock and roll’ sign. I think the colorfully adorned waitstaff were afraid.

Actually, Carissa and I are complete polar opposites in everything but we’re very very good friends. It’s a mystery, really, how we get along so well.

Great, now I’ve got that Paula Abdul song where she was dancing with the cartoon cat stuck in my head.

Anywhoo, I ebayed some tickets and they’re about 30th row, but dead-on center. It’s a bummer that Steve Perry went psycho and won’t be touring with the group, but I’ve decided that the psuedo-Perry is acceptable.

We’re going to play Mullet Bingo at the concert. I must endeavor to create cards. I feel certain in the knowledge that we will be the youngest people at the concert. However, it saddens me when I realize that I’ve gone from REM to Journey in the short span of three years. I may have to hit Summerfest tonight. The Violent Femmes are playing and perhaps that will offset whatever chemical imbalance must be present in my mixed-up brain.

Maybe I can get the pseudo-Perry to sign my butt?

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My mom came over a few weeks ago and got a bunch of empty gardening pots from our little potting shed (which goes unused, since I don’t actually garden, just like to purchase gardening stuff). Then a few days ago, she brought them back, filled with flowers!!! How cool is that? I love flowers and gardeny things, but I don’t like actually getting dirty and playing in the dirt. I never made mud-pies when I was a child. But she made me two hanging pots, a beautiful big pot with a climbing fuschia thingy for in between our garage doors, and then she put this darling little basket filled with pink impatients and spanish moss under our lilac tree. It looks as though a little girl was out picking flowers and left her basket sitting there. I love it. It’s so cool.

I called her right away and thanked her and she told me that she had plans for an empty flower pot that I had in our front yard (which used to contain the dead stuff from my one ditch effort at gardening LAST season). It’s so cool!

I realize that while my mother doesn’t feel comfortable showing her feelings with affection, she looks for other ways to make me feel loved. It just took me until my late twenties to figure that out. I’m totally thrilled with the stuff she’s done. It was so sweet.

I’m thinking about bribing her to put in some landscaping.

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Earlier this week, I found some clearanced t-shirts for $7. I bought a lime green one, figuring that it would be perfect for layering under a vest or whatnot. I did not expect that I would actually be able to WEAR it as a single piece, thinking that at the price it would be either too short, too tight across the chest, or completely see-through.

Anyway, it wasn’t. It could actually stand on its own fashion-wise. Thus, I went back to the store and purchased two more (a red one and a powder pink one. They had purple but they didn’t have it in my size, so last night I went to a different store in the chain in search of the elusive purple. They were also out, but I still scored three more shirts. And there’s two more of these stores in the area for me to search.

I like the idea that I don’t have to think about what I’m wearing to work for an entire week.

I think that if you find something that works, buy a six-pack of them.

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Well, we’re leaving for the Ren Faire today. Esteban and I are going with Kim V. and her husband Brian and also Joel and his lovely wife Cheri. I’m totally stoked.

However, it looks as though it’s going to be hot. Damn hot. I don’t want to be wilty Weetabix, so I’m anticipating only have the sexy Ren dress on for roughly 15 minutes. Then I’ll swap to shorts and a new $7 t-shirt.

As I’m not giving very good diary today, I thought I’d share some pictures that I had laying around my hard drive.

Here’s the original picture that I made my banner ad from’ cute little Abigail Grace. See those teeth? Auntie Weetabix is to blame for the fact that one of them is chipped now. Luckily we have this adorable picture so we can look back before she had teeth like a Reese monkey.

Here’s a picture of the very loud cat Chelsea.

Here’s a picture I snapped from my rental car window. It’s of the front of an inn in Key West called The Red Rooster. It cracked me up. Actually, any large plastic farm animal cracks me up (and if I ever get my web page back in shape, you can peruse my gallery of large plastic farm animals).

But this one cracks me up because I think that somewhere in Lower Florida, there must be a big plastic chicken missing a head.

This is another picture from Key West, taken in the middle of January in a parking lot overlooking the Atlantic ocean’.. A Key West snowman. It makes me giggle.

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I’ll be back late Saturday night and will post pictures from the Ren fair somewhere, in case you’d like to see them. Or maybe on Sunday, depends on how tired I am.

Until the morrow, faire friends, anon. I bid you anon. And don’t stop believin’.

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Have you Seen These?

2001-06-29 Journey to the center of Mulletdom

2001-06-28 Is you is or is you ain’t my Savior?

2001-06-27 Mattel introduces Slutty ‘Ho Barbie!

2001-06-26 More Fart humor at Casa Weetabix

2001-06-26 Poet-Collab: Tea Poem
2001-06-25 – SUBLIMINAL {new} MESSAGES {bra} REVEALED {needed}!!!

2001-06-25 – Monkey Bars 1, Small Child 0, Weetabix -342