Hee hee

I took IT out today.

Actually, I told my brother via text message from work that I was going to take IT out when I got home, but upon my arrival this afternoon at our homestead, I walked in the house and found the curtains in the living room closed. "How odd," says me. So I open the curtains and turn around and find that my brother had taken IT out for me. He also took his out. I was so excited that IT was out, that I could no longer think logically and ran back and forth from house to garage trying to gather up everything so I could take IT out somewhere. Like a 7-year-old minus the much-needed Ritalin.

My brother is a good person. Instead of my new year's resolution to eat more butter (yeah, it was the same as last year), I should have resolved to be nicer to the boy. Well, after he surprised me by taking IT out today, I will do my best to remember how thoughtful he was.

I only took IT out for a short time today. Maybe I'll be able to take IT out for a longer length of time tomorrow.

Details soon...

Now THAT's festive

Mom decided to celebrate St. Patrick's Day in a BIG way. Or this is what happens when you're gone for 5, 6 weeks.

No WAY!

Quickly, "The Binder" is a collection of brilliant works from myself and my then-close friends from high school. Mostly notes back and forth filled with, now that I look back, hormone-induced babbling. Except Trish's notes. Those are gonna be worth something someday. Especially because she reads my blog.

So I'm looking for something in particular to torture Trish and I find a note from a girl who was my close friend through grade school. We sort of drifted apart once we got into high school, mostly because I never saw her a single day after freshman year when we shared a locker. Our schedules never met up.

Tonight, I see her name and think "Ah hell, I'll google her. Let's see what happens." And there was my "Holy Shit!" moment. Let the name dropping begin...

Before They Were Stars example #1:
Before ->The sturdy foundation of this totem pole is my grade school friend, Amy. We were the tom-boyest of tomboys.

After ->She is currently the lead vocalist for a Chicago band called Plain Ole Delicious. I have not heard her voice for about 20 years, but the minute I listened to her sing "Surf", I recognized her immediately. Interestingly, I've never heard her sing until just now, either. She's sure come a long way since we rocked out in her room to Poison. No, I'm not proud. Of that. Proud of Amy? Completely. Jealous, even. I hope I get to experience this new side of her when I'm once again in the Chi 'Burbs.

"Surf" is an awesome song. I instantly related to it, because I love surfing, but I've never done it and have no desire to swim in the ocean. I just like to look. Weird, I know.

If you're in the Chicago area, please take the opportunity to see her perform in person.

Before They Were Stars example #2:
Before->Drafting class, Senior year. Jason was a skater punk. Fun as hell to hang out with. Jay drew this and gave it to me...apparently I kept it...seems I must have known what was down the road for him...I'm fairly sure Jason is now responsible for these....

After->



There aren't any images of Jason on the web, but I'm picking up a vibe...

And the last one for this post....
Before They Were Stars example #3:

Before->
What...need more? Here...
Get it?
Yes, that's right. Glenn. Drummer. Wilco. Glenn and I were in Marching Band (as was Trish), but I'm not sure if he and I ever exchanged a single word in the four years. Of course, upon discovering his celebrity status (my first "Holy Shit!" moment), I had a series of dreams with him in them. Mildly disturbing. For him, I'm sure. Sorry, Glenn.

[end: nostalgic bender]

A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway

I just dug out "The Binder" and had a "holy shit!" moment. I'll post about it soon. But first...
This very napkin is the secret to a healthy, happy marriage if you ask me.

I still have this napkin because it makes me laugh. Strangers, please note: I am easily amused. I also laugh at farts.
This, however, isn't all that funny...

Luckily I had my mom and a huge bouquet to hide...."THE DRESS". Trish, you hate me, just fess up. Also, one of only five times I would be seen in a dress. I call it the Sasquatch sighting.

Ohhhh! Scenic!

I found this via a blog of a blog of a flickr.

My brain -> Ooo! What a pretty pond! All kinds of flowers and lily pads......[click] [throw up a little] Ooo! Blue Jello! Left out on the counter too long! Hey, it's still scenic.

Good Lord, wear the gear!

I recently became a member of the Chippewa Valley Sportbike Club. I joined this year after hanging out with most of the gentlemen last year and found I made a few good acquaintances, and, even though they are CONSTANTLY waiting for me at intersections, they are a good bunch to ride with. I have no doubt that there would be many volunteers to perform CPR on me should the need arise, particularly since I appear to be the only female. Yeah, I realize I'm not a motorcycle-riding supermodel, but I have boobs. I'm willing to risk this generalization: that all men are fascinated with boobs.

The club is an interesting bunch...sort of a contradiction. They all insist on wearing as much protective gear as possible (which, honestly, is really not a bad idea), but are known to wheelie down a county road given the right conditions. They are all fast when they want to be (except me), and that tells me I can only get better.

The CVSC admins post up pictures on the home page from time to time, mostly of classic roadracing pictures. This newest one gave me pause, however.


My brain -> Dear GOD! If I don't wear protective gear, my boobs will drop into my crotch and bulge out my tighty-whiteys! What?!? Tighty-whiteys??

An aside: Two things man should never have invented. Tighty-whiteys. The Speedo. Uh, three things. Black socks.

...Sometimes I wonder if there isn't a long-forgotten Micro-Machine or Crayon stuck way up in my nose that has been pressing on my brain...especially that part of the brain that makes you drool unexpectedly and crave odd things like corned beef hash. If I had to guess, the Micro-Machine would be a white muscle car with red and blue stripes. The Crayon? Burnt Siena.

Darn her.

A couple of weekends ago, the brother, his friendgirl and I were all lounging about on a Sunday afternoon. The discussion of mushrooms comes up. Not the trippin' kind. The eatin' kind.

I've been a lover of edible mushrooms most of my life. While the majority of society will put cream of mushroom soup in their green bean casserole or as an ingredient in another tasty recipe, I (and my cousin Heb) scarfed an entire can down at a time. Straight from the pyrex bowl, if unattended. With half a bag of crushed saltines. It kinda resembled rough plaster. Mmm, delish.

Friendgirl is newish to my life. She visits with us (well, she visits with Brother) from WAY up north in Chetek and brings mad cooking skills. On any weekend, we might have lasagna, a breakfasty dish with an unpronounceable name, or brownies. I like Friendgirl. Like a lot of people, there are things she won't eat...unfortunately, her dislikes occasionally clash with mine and my brother's likes. We are meat eaters; Friendgirl, not so much. This is new to me as most of the people in my life are meat eaters as well (and butter, mmm). It's not infrequently that I look like a callous asswipe when I make something with bacon in it, or order something for all of us and forget about the meat thing. It takes getting used to. So, she'll probably be accidentally eating pork products on occasion for some time, because I'm an idiot.

Back to the two weeks ago...Friendgirl is in conversation with Brother and I join in when the topic of mushrooms comes up. She says, "Eating mushrooms is like...well, have you ever bitten into human skin?" ......

Sure, I've nibbled on my fair share of male earlobes when I once cared about dating. I once even tried to bite through my novocained lip post-dentist. Good thing I'm not grossed out by it. I'd hate for Friendgirl to live with the stigma of swearing me off my life-long love of fungus. But now I can't stop thinking about that. Mushrooms are INDEED similar in texture to human skin. And now you, dear reader (if there are any of you out there), will not stop thinking about it either. Every time you sit down to your portobello steak, mushroom marinara, or New York Strip smothered with buttons, you (and I, of course) will think about it. My gift to you.

Just morbidly curious? Or Jeffrey Dahmerish?

Today's news blurb heard on the way into work...blah blah blah performed emergency surgery by drilling into a man's skull with a Bosch power drill. Me..."I wonder what smoldering skull smells like? And what kind of coolant do you use?"

Karma, and its Ass-Handing

How come I buy a motorcycle and the EC gets one of the longest, snowiest winters EVAH? I lie not...I sat at work today, staring out the window at THAT coming down and suddenly a thought popped into my head. "Do it. Flip out. Run screaming outside, into THAT and shriek, countenance turned to the sky, 'WHAT THE FUCK?'" But, there's just me and the one other employee. All hat, no cattle. I need an audience.

My mom is in town visiting her two horrible children (allegedly). Thank goodness, because if I had to come home to an empty house and cook my own food in this foul mood, I would've curled up on the floor in the fetal position eating dry ramen...WITHOUT the chicken flavor packet. Thanks Momma for the home-cooked meal. It's like being 7 again. I miss 7.

So I watched "Wild Hogs" tonight and it made me feel better. Yeah, it's not the best motorcycle movie around, but it's a darn sight better than that glorious piece de crap Torque or Biker Boyz. Turds. "You know what they call bikers in the E.R.? ORGAN DONORS!" Cripes. And who the hell wears a 3/4 helmet on a sportbike anyway?

Back to me. I felt better watching people motorcycle...there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Drinking Beamish on St. Patrick's Day doesn't hurt, either. Ugh...3 to 6 inches tonight (and I don't mean the fun kind). Yea, twisty roads. Ugh, Ray Liotta. Ugh, Ray Liotta some more. Yea, smooth, Irishy meat in a glass. I will make it through another day. I can't wait to drive the sportbike club ape-shit yelling out "Wild Hogs!" at the top of my lungs. ...I'm my own evil twin.

What?!?

Yeah, this blog's been up and running for two weeks now. I was waiting for my muse to drop-kick my ass, but I got nothin'. So I'm just gonna go on record here and emphatically state that I did not have sexual rel....no, that's not me.

Stay tuned, you never know. I might spew out some genius shit soon and you'll see my "collected prose and poetry" (isn't that redundant?) on the shelf at Borders everywhere, right next to Walt friggin' Whitman. But for now, I'm off on a 45 minute drive to "The River" to see if I can't down a fatty burger on Lake Pepin and spot some of those flying buffalo known as "Bald Eagles."