Say, what’s happening in Assholeport? I have been keeping you all in the dark, no? Well, you’ll be DELIGHTED to know it’s the usual collection of domestic mishmash. ASSHOLES! They’re Just Like You (tee em)!

Tea Party!

Assholes have tea parties for their kids, just like YOU.

Seriously, it was pretty cool. I gave the girls a five minute talk on the history of tea parties, because that’s how we roll up in the librarian’s hizzy, and they drank mint and hibiscus tea and et lil’ sandwiches, quiche, fruit salad, and something like cheesecake that was in mini puff pastries for dessert.

Companion did all the cooking and preparation, and I did the hostessing and place setting. We ducked into the scullery, aka behind the fridge, and they started doing stupid things like dipping their fruit into their tea. Led by my child, of course, who is a show-off in a crowd. Six- and seven-year-olds, my GAH.

Weenie sandwiches with cream cheese filling. There was bacon flavor, chive flavor, and traditional cucumber with watercress. Companion denounced them as nasty. They were, kind of. If I had a tea party, I would serve taleggio, jalapeno poppers, and raw oysters. It would be something to write home about. Or maybe not, because you’d probably be in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon.

Continue reading →

BOY HOWDY have I been crafty today. It’s like someone squeezed my fucking ovaries or something. I have been working on a project I put aside months ago, which is a conversion of an old medicine cabinet into a jewelry box. And I have been painting the bathroom. Go me. Go spring mania. The sun is back.

Box and Titties. Okay, no titties. But don’t you want to sing that now?

Oh to the motherfucking ho-ho-ho, bitches, my Vurah Special Box from Wyoming came today. That was nutty-fast. I’m glad I didn’t drop the extra forty bone for express shipping. Come ON. How much faster is less than a week, anyway?

Franny peeps in unbridled curiosity. She did not know I was getting a box. I got her a wee apron when I was in WY, so she can be all Encyclopedia Domestica like me.

She fucking flipped her lid when I opened the box.

Continue reading →

Dear IB Diary,

Denvermolorado

Yesterday was great! I was all abouts in the Southwest. I landed in Denver, where my friend greeted me by texting me a picture of a blue-suited furry she saw at the airport. “No head, though,” she said ruefully. I saw skatepunks and a cowboy-looking guy within seconds of getting off the plane. I was worried about turbulence, because Denver is infamous for rocky landings, but it was fine. My stomach didn’t even drop.

Continue reading →

Dear MF Diary,

Now we are totally dominated by pox. We have been alternating between praying and sacrificing virgins. What started as a “light” case ramped up to be one of those in-the-mouth and everywhere else cases. The whining has ramped up to the point that she’s not capable of asking for things nicely, she just increases the volume until we give up the goods.

I talked to someone at my big kid’s school about some auction stuff on Friday, and she asked me how Strudel was doing. “Two more kids out today,” she said. “And they both got the vaccine.” Maybe it’s special Asia Pox, and I personally met patient zero.

I forgot that Teh Draeded Poxe is more than just itchy spots–it’s muscle aches too. Human beings can get some pretty gnarly stuff. Strudel’s new name, just for today, is The Poxtator.

Yesterday we had friends over for a dinner that wasn’t really Easter dinner, but was pretty fancy anyway. We had my kid’s teacher over, some cool perps, and some Daniel. Our friends helped The Poxtator choose colors for her eggs. And this year we actually had enough red to go around, unlike last year. I’m sorry that Franny wasn’t here, but we are going to give her the option to do it again with us after she gets back. What the hell. We likes egg salad.

I was pleased to discover that they were all pretty into dying eggs. I have discovered you can get people into a lot of things they haven’t done for years if you provide the materials and make it so the mess is at your house.

[In a completely unrelated note to myself: stock up on vinyl shower curtains and baby oil.]

Companion spent some time reading about egg-decorating techniques in Europe, and he discovered that wax resist is used a lot. He got out a tea light and started spattering an egg, dipped it, removed a layer, and then dipped it in another color. I like his flame job egg. I declare it the winner.

You may be shocked to learn I made a lamb roast. I wanted the meal to taste very springy. I made a couple of salads: a heartier panzanella with beans, feta, olives, onions, fennel, and fresh croutons, and a lettuce salad with a kick-ass dressing that was three parts cream and 1 part stone-ground mustard. I also quick-pickled some radishes. Please do not come to my house if you afraid of oh noes calories.

I made a carmelized banana tart for dessert, after completely bogoing an apple tart earlier. It looked a lot like this, but I didn’t use this recipe. Daniel, in his usual way of making something hilarious and disgusting at the same time, started referring to it as sausage pie. He piped down after he tasted it, though.

At the end of the night after everyone else had gone home, Daniel ran downstairs to check the bus schedule.

“Heeey, I’m about to get my Vista cherry popped,” he declared as he opened Firefox. I had to get a picture of that historic moment, which made him laugh.

I hope Hester Prynne was gentle with him.

Thank you i-Jerk LM.

This is going head to head for me now with Saddyback. I think every stupid song should be covered by someone who can sing like this. Interestingly (probably only to me), all my JT and Amy Winehouse ringtones got corrupted. I think my tinfoil hat interfered with them somehow. So I’m back to my “My Humps” ring, which is now totally retro.

Also, PS, I kind of want an Iron Hymen shirt.

The Internets Broketh, and Lo, it SUCKED. But I got some things done while I was out of the Matrix. YES! I was productive!

1. Alphabetized/detailed contents of Adult Drawer.

2. Wrote scathing letter to Brown Cow Farms. Now they are giving us less yogurt for the same price and with no lid for saving the leftovers. Now they are backsliding by offering free lids. FOR SHAME, Brown Cow. You can’t change horses midstream. Lily would hang her head and moo forlornly if she knew. Or actually existed.

3. Was not able to click “refresh” on Oh No They Didn’t every fifteen minutes, and so had no idea about the doings and whereabouts celebrity No-No Places for a WHOLE WEEK.

4. I saw Joshua Norton, who is back, leaving Wales completely unprotected. I have not seen him in over two years. I drank bad wine and he drank good stout at Pies and Pints. That was probably one of the best parts of the holiday.

5. Found Jesus.

He was tearing off a be-phone numbered tab on an advertisement that read “JUMP START YOUR CAREER AS A HOME-STAGER TODAY” at the Wallingford Center. His clothes were mismatched and this seemed to distress him, so we went downtown.

He said that he appreciated my help but generally, he only traveled with women named Mary and / or women with flowing, non-chemically processed hair. I told him I saw his point, and realized that if there was any footwashing to be done, especially with something salty like tears, it would be likely that my hair would leave pink streaks on His Feet. We discussed this and he decided it would have to be accommodated for the time being. I told him it would wash right off the next time he hopped into the shower (sort of true).

Jesus attempted to veer into the pimp shop downtown, mumbling something about providing succor to lost souls, misguidedly looking to fill their lives with the empty promise of fauxligator shoes.

“But Jesus,” I countered, “I know that animal prints are wildly seductive. But I think we can get back to Your Work more quickly and with a less gaudy result if we shop at Nordstrom.”

Reluctantly, Jesus wrenched His Gaze from the velveteen fedoras and turned to face me. Finally, renouncing all animal prints true and false, Jesus nodded his assent and I offered to lead him to the land of fleece and practical shoes so he could cavort more credibly with the natives.

As we combed the Men’s Half-Yearly Sale racks, He spoke to me of the career opportunities in home staging. About how you can make someone’s dreams to get out of a house that has become a drab, mismatched half-remodeled millstone come true. About how you can make someone’s dreams of getting into a house that now has a coat of Mystic Mocha slapped on in the rumpus room and with those tastefully sterile wicker balls artfully displayed in elegant rustic bowls scattered here and there. It’s about making dreams come true, he said.

Jesus looked me in the face then, a pair of sage green Dockers held up between us that I had been urging Him to Try On. I think he expected me to fall down under the spinning rack of pants and change my name to Paul, or at least something rhyming with “SJ” (Jorge?). I’m not sure, though, because I was not paying attention to a lot of the religious parts in college unless they were dirty, and you know, most aren’t. Another of life’s disappointments.

The last time I saw Jesus he was heading into the men’s fitting room. He wanted to try on “just one more” sport coat. I could tell it was too narrow and was going pull in the back, but he was a Man on a Mission.

I lost Jesus. Jesus owes me $138 dollars, which has resulted in my precipitous slide back into agnosticism.

HAPPY NEW YEAR BITCHES!

1. On Thursday my back seized up like WHOA. It was in the exact same spot as when I hurt it kickboxing. This time I was doing something even more heroically magnificent: I was putting a new bag in the trashcan.

I crawled to the living room floor like a spazzy snake and managed to call my babydaddy. Who had just finished his hour-long commute. They love that, you know. Fighting to get to work and the coming back home again immediately.

So I was lying there on the floor, clutching my cel phone. I had talked my tiniest slave into bringing me a pillow and my book. I had just changed Strudel and snacked her up before my back spazzed, so I knew she’d be okay for an hour walking around my carcass.

“This isn’t so bad, as long as I don’t move,” I thought. “I can make it for an hour.”

Strudel came to stand over me and looked down into my face.

“Mama? Mama? Mama? WAAAAA-CHOOOO!”

BAM! Pasted with snot. And what ho, I’ve got a cold this week. It’s a mystery.

Companion asked me how I was feeling with it, and honestly, I am just so thrilled not to have the flu I’m pretty happy.

Moral: Never get lower than a mannerless shortie with a cold.

2. This weekend, for the first time in my twenty-nine years, I made gingerbread houses. I tried a few years ago, using real gingerbread, but I think I didn’t cook it long enough and there were some structural integrity issues. I seem to recall drinking the leftover wine from marinating grapes and then having a serious Godzilla moment. The ginger-citizens were terrified, and I think I deservedly got slivers of Lifesaver glass lodged in my giant lizard hand.

Whippet and her kids came over, and before they were due to arrive I made little graham cracker houses with royal icing. Does anyone know why it’s called “Royal Icing?” Was it used to seal up those little inbred lads in the Tower of London? Is it because it’s, like, royally disgusting? And yet I couldn’t stop unconsciously licking my fingers and then going “YEEEW.”

The graham crackers were being naughty and had baked crookedly in the factory, so I had similar difficulties this time. I repeated the phrase that came up endlessly in library school: “WUT ABOUT THE CHILDREN,” who were waiting to receive the bounty of tiny, prefabricated housing. Thus I was able to calm the fuck down without getting the neck veins and windmill arms. I hardly ever smash things anymore, which my parole officer says is progress. I am about the most impatient, useless crafter who ever lived. A few weeks ago I applied the “donkey knitting a poncho” metaphor to someone else, but now I realize there are four fingers pointing back at me.

Apparently I likes the neck veins because I’ll probably do it again next year.

Continue reading →