Meet Junior

I had some exciting news yesterday.

My pally-o Kates and her husband Jeff added some new chicks to their urban chicken farm operation this weekend. Jeff mentioned that they needed help with names, so I checked in with Kates to see whether she'd like to avail herself of my mad naming skillz.

Turns out, they'd already come up with names based on the members of the East Side girlgang! There's Melasinth (our lil' Mels), Mrs. Ansart (for Jodles), Shazzy (of course), and one...well, one chicken was given my name. Not my nickname - Tibs - nope, my actual first name. The one that's almost constantly mispronounced and misspelled. It'd be a stretch to call it the bane of my existence, but it's certainly an inconvenience at times.

I tried to tell Kates that giving this chicken my name would ensure the bird gets its feathery little behind mocked all through the coop, but she's sticking with it.

So now I'm just going to recognize and appreciate the fabulosity of having a chicken named after my very ownself. Mainly because Kates let me pick which wee chickie would receive my name. I immediately asked whether she'd gotten a Polish chicken, which I thought would be an appropriate selection given my heritage and stuff.

Lucky for me, she did. And now, behold my namesake...




She's a White-Crested Black Polish chicken, which essentially means she's rockin' a nice and trim black silhouette with a giant white afro. I dig it.

Here's a web description of the lil' cutie:
Bad hair day? Not with this chicken in your yard! The White-crested Black Polish has an impressive mop of white feathers adorning its head, providing a stunning contrast to its shiny black body. It is a soft-feathered lighter breed, with clean legs (no feathers on its legs) [we have this in common] and an upright tail. Polish chickens lay white eggs and tend not to go broody (want to sit on and hatch) their eggs [ditto].

It is rumored that the Polish crest requires extra care and maintenance [never claimed to be low maintenance, y'alls] and can obscure this chicken’s ability to see, however Polish kept in backyard conditions with just a few other coopmates and a secure roosting house tend to do fine. In severely muddy conditions the crest may need washing or drying [here's where we differ, as I prefer daily washings and dryings].

Polish are a friendly breed suitable as pets and bred mostly for their stunning ornamentation [I am also adorable and have no objection to being a kept woman].

Hmmm...seems like this might just be a match made in heaven...

Happy Mardi Gras, betches!

Got big plans to celebrate Fat Tuesday? Thinkin' of hitting the town and trading peeks of your bazoombas for beads? Well, aren't you just dirty little betches?

Brace yourselves for my big Mardi Gras plans, 'cuz THEY ARE EPIC.

After work, I'm gonna head home and change into my PJs. I'm not feeling particularly inspired to create anything gourmet for dinner tonight, so mah mans may just have to go eat some peanut butter out of the jar in the kitchen while I munch on my cheese and crackers.

After that, I'll likely kick it up a notch by editing my little brother's resume. I plan to follow up these action-packed events by - wait for it - watching a little NCIS on the tee-vee.

So doesn't that just color you jealous? I thought so.

Pardon me, but do you have anything in a flesh-colored beard?

I lost a good hour in the Lippman Company party supply store on Saturday afternoon. I'd stopped in to pick up some Oscar-themed gear, but there was plenty more to check out.

There were casino displays, baby shower displays, Mardi Gras displays - and since we are talkin' about Portland, after all - just about every PIRATE-related item you can think of.

But there were a few things that caught my eye in some of the other sections. For instance, the "popcorn" necklace that looked a whole lot like a string o' teeth. There was no way I'd wear such a cornball (get it? pop-CORN? hahahaha!) necklace to my chi-chi Oscar party. But if I'd been looking for accoutrements for my Cannibal Tribe Barbie costume for next Halloween, I do believe I'd be in luck at the Lippman Company store.

And I'd be lying if I said I didn't spend more than a little time in the fake facial hair section. And the thing is - I don't know if you know this - but most of those "pieces" are actual human hair. How oodgey is that? Soooooo oodgey! Check out the moustachio and sideburns...there was even a blonde moustache and beard kit - just in case you want to go all flesh-colored-beard a la Spencer Pratt and stuff.

I'm thinkin' real soon I'll need to come up with another excuse for a party so I can get over to the Lippman Co. again. I've got my eye on some new wigs and one of those switchblades that are actually skinny little combs. 'Cuz they're bitchin' and everything...

It's Oscar Night!

The Oscars are here! The Oscars are here!

Shaz and I put in some serious time watching movies over the last two months, and it all paid off tonight! We've pulled a few marathon viewings and have given up hours of sleep in order to cram in some of the Oscar-nominated films before the big show. And tonight was the big show.

We'd had plans to watch the Oscars at the Mission Theater along with our friend Kates and her husband Jeff. But then Kates and Shaz were struck by THE PLAGUE. Trottin' those two out into a public setting didn't seem very good for others, and certainly not too comfortable for them, so my Oscar party was relegated to my very own living room divan.

Oh well, at least I was able to kick it in my PJs.

I was able to entice Shazzer over with the offer of pot roast, so she arrived with Jaeger the dachshund and a box o' Kleenex in hand. We made our Oscar selections (and even talked Jay into making his picks!) and settled in to watch the red carpet arrivals, followed by the BIG SHOW.

A lot was made of the changed format of the show, and a few things that I really liked were Hugh Jackman's assembed-in-the-garage opening act (The Craigslist Dancers? Seriously? That was awesome!), the acting awards handed out by previous winners in their respective categories and the Best Song mashup towards the end of the show. I'm a big ol' Bollywood fan anyway, and when you throw in some John Legend? I could pretty much die and go to heaven right there.

At the end of the show, Shaz, Jay and I compared notes, and - I don't want to sound totally full of myself or anything - but I kinda kicked ass with my Oscar picks. Overall, I was 18 for 24, but that's counting the boring categories of films nobody ever sees...like Foreign Film, Animated Short, the Documentary categories...so when you take out those, I was actually at 17 for 19.

'Cuz I'm fancy like that.

I WIN.

I can't even tell you how excited I was when Sean Penn won for Milk. I screamed and startled kittygatos throughout the house. I was worried that Mickey Rourke would pick up the award - and despite his impressive performance - I didn't think his was the strongest performance this year. Sean Penn became Harvey Milk, and it was amazing to watch. Kate Winslet's win as Hanna in The Reader was completely justified, but I'm still confused why her performance in Revolutionary Road wasn't nominated. It's a crazy, crazy world, clearly.

I think we all expected Heath Ledger to win Best Supporting Actor, and so were weren't shocked when his name was announced. But the Best Supporting Actress category was wild. I watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona last night, and I'll be frank - I've always hated Penelope Cruz. I put off watching that movie precisely because I can't stand to hear that woman speak. But ya know what? I actually really liked the film. And I thought Penelope's performance as Maria Elena was outstanding. I picked her to win, she won the Oscar, and I marveled at that turn of events. Chick needs to play more crazy insane Spanish-speaking broads, I guess.

And though I picked Slumdog Millionaire to win the Best Picture prize, my own personal favorite movie this year was The Reader. It was quite the straightforward little film, and the montage where Ralph Fiennes begins to read to Kate Winslet's character towards the end of the film just slayed me. A beautiful movie, and one I'm looking forward to seeing again. Shaz and I had a helluva time picking out our favorites in the Best Picture category, and it finally came clear when I asked her to pick which one she'd want to buy when it comes out on DVD. I think she was down with Slumdog, but I went with The Reader, all the way. And just so's you know...I totally think Ralph Fiennes got ROBBED. He was great in The Reader, and in In Bruges. And no noms? A travesty.

Since we didn't have our big Oscar Extravaganza down at the Mission, I didn't get to dig too deep into my bag of party supplies and goodies to share the awesomeness that I picked up yesterday at the Lippman Company party supply store. However, I couldn't not share this...the Pabst Blue Ribbon mural on the wall just behind Lippman's. Only in Portland, I tell ya...

Not Want It

Is what my little brother used to say when presented with something he didn't want to eat...and I think both of us would say those words if someone offered us this cake:

posted on Cake Wrecks

Where I'll be tomorrow evening...

Road trippin' to the high desert

Mah mans and I have returned from a whirlwind weekend of road trippin', midwinter meet-ups and Valentines Day redneckery. And it was all good.

Here are some pix of our superfun weekend...

Sculpturey biz in the Old Mill District

Ducks and geese kickin' it in the Deschutes River

Winterfest ice sculptures in the Old Mill District

Snowy hills east of Burns, Oregon

Snow showers and sunshine in the desert

Icy river in SE Oregon

My new favorite things

Down-filled booties. And, uh...zinfandel. But zin's been one of my fave things for like, ever and stuff.

The booties are new, a lil' impulse purchase I made at REI before Jay and I headed out to southeastern Oregon in search of hills and hot springs this weekend. We'd intended to buy just a few things - sunglasses for Jay (I swear I need sunnie-leashes for him - like little kids have for mittens!) and handwarmers to help us through the night if the temps were to drop below zero. 

But then we saw the signs saying winter gear was 30 - 50% off, and well...I'm sure you know what happened then. We got stuff.

The booties kept my tootsies warm last night when we first crawled into our chilly sleeping bags and they're super cozy now, sitting here enjoying a little wine and cheese in a coworker's house in Bend. I think the booties and I have a long and happy relationship ahead of us.

Jay and I return home tomorrow with plenty of time for me to post photos of the trip and tales of rummity rum goodness and fun with firearms. It was a damn fine weekend, y'alls.

Peace out, peaches!

A new endeavour

The economy sucks. Employees are having their hours cut or being laid off. The OctoMom story gets weirder and weirder every day. Times is hard, y'alls.

But my coworker Renee and I have a plan. A plan to combat high stress and low morale. A plan that will bring happiness and joy into the office environment. This plan will lift spirits and make them soar! (Like an eagle. An eagle versus shark. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.)

The plan is simple: G - O - A - L

Goofing
Off
At
Lunch

Every other week or so, we plan to hold a quick game session immediately following our staff meeting, right over the lunch hour. You bring your lunch, and we'll bring the games. We kicked off the first GOAL on Wednesday this week, and I'll just go on and say it - it was a fantastic success!

This week's game was Apples to Apples, and let me tell you something...you learn a few things playing that game with coworkers. It really becomes obvious who the by-the-book types are, and who the cynical misanthropes are. But bottom line, that shizz is HILARIOUS.

We're pretty sure that we'll be sticking with Apples to Apples for the next GOAL session, since everyone loved it so much - but future possibilities include UNO, Cranium, and one I'm really excited about - the ping pong. We're in the market for some of those little nets that attach to a table. Be sure to let me know if you've got a line of sumpin' like that, ya hear?

I'm gonna have a little downtime tonight.

I've got a tickle in my throat and getting a cold is most definitely NOT IN MY PLAN. Jay and I are heading out to Malheur County in southeast Oregon this weekend for a kickass camping trip and hot springin', so I really need to not be sick.

I loaded up on the Emergen-C and Airborne today at work, but now it's time to bring out the big guns. That's right, THT - Tea, Honey and Tequila.

I laughed the first time my friend Jon suggested it to me, but lemme tell ya - it's awesome. So for the duration of tonight, I'm gonna go ahead and cuddle up on the couch with mah mans, drink some THT and try desperately to finish The Ten Year Nap before tomorrow's WineBookClub meeting. Wish me luck.

Panic! At The Meeting.

This afternoon I attended an off-site meeting. I knew going in that this was going to be a looooong meeting, so I got there early in order to make sure certain things were in place to ensure maximum comfortability over the next several hours:

- Seat in the back of the room, near the door - CHECK

- Tabletop for maximum notetaking/doodling comfort - CHECK

- Pre-meeting bathroom break - CHECK

All was well until the seats in the room began to fill up...and people kept filing into the room. My coworker B and I actually made ourselves useful and went to grab more chairs from an adjacent room. This is unusual in that neither B nor I generally care much for the comfort of people around us - mainly because we don't care much for people at all.

Since people were milling about in the doorway, we placed the chairs outside the door and people just grabbed a chair as they went in. After we'd liberated most of the chairs from the other room, we went back and reclaimed our sweet digs in the back of the room. Before long, all the chairs out in the hallway were haphazardly tucked into nooks and crannies around the room. The walkways became congested and people even placed their chairs right in front of the exit doors.

And I...I started to panic. See, I don't do well with congested places. And I don't take kindly to my routes of escape being obstructed. Great googley-moogley! Didn't these people learn anything from that blazing inferno at the Great White concert?!

So here's what the sitchy looked like today:

There were at least four people, two chairs, a garbage can and a recycling bin between me and freedom. And that was entirely too much for me to deal with. I started getting that real panicky feeling in my chest and went a little wild-eyed. I asked one guy who'd posted up right in front of the door if he'd move to the other side of me to keep the exit clear, but someone else took his spot immediately. Gah!

I scribbled out a note to B: "The panic? I haz it." and he replied that I needed to take some deep breaths. One of our other work peeps noted my apoplexy and gave me the big ol' raised eyebrows. All I could think was "I dunna need the raised eyebrows! I need these motherscratchers outta my freakin' way!!"

This freakout of mine was not exactly a big surprise. I've never done well in tightly-packed places. Any time my personal bubble is compromised, I lose my shizz. It used to happen out in the clubs - the Greek Cusina was a bad one for me, and I once had to abandon my friend's birthday party at the Rock Bottom Brewery because I was fairly certain people were sucking all the air out of the room. It was a bad scene.

Since then, I've done my best to avoid The Panic by proper seat selection and kickin' it near exits. And it's worked. Until today. The deep breathing helped, but you know what would be even better? A livefeed of all meetings. So, you know, I'd never have to even GO to the meetings.

Let's put our heads together and make it happen, mmkay?

I've had it with the scares.

I'm pretty sure this is the second time in a month or so that we've had a bomb scare in the building across the street. The streets get shut down, our building fills with evacuees and sidewalks and exits are closed off on one side of the building. And if this turns out to be nothing more than a forgotten backpack, that's just annoying. But I guess it's good to see the police department is taking care of business and keeping us safe.



The courthouse, all cordoned off...

My love/hate relationship with Babies R Us

Lately, I've been trying to reconcile my longstanding anti-kidlet belief system with the fact that my sister's first baby arrives within weeks. Even though babies freak me out (bad babysitting experiences back in middle school is where I squarely place the blame), I've decided that this baby I WILL LIKE. Nay, even love. Particularly given the fact that this is the kid I plan to promise my millions to if he's successful in keeping me out of a skeezy nursing home.

What? I can do that. I'll be an AUNT. Which is like, HOLY or something. Right?

One of the many contradictions in my world is that while I don't like babies, I luuuurve itty bitty little things. The battle between these two sides of my psyche rages intensely at the Babies R Us. On the one side, there's all these fascinating teensy items like miniature nail clippers, wee snowsuits and adorable footwear. The problem develops when all the people with their screeching and bawling little ones show up. The smallest of the babies aren't the problem, but it seems there's always older kids in the mix. And what in heckfire is that all about? Is it Babies R Us, or Cranky Crybaby Toddlers R Us? I mean, honestly.

On Friday, Shaz and I had a little time to kill before our showing of Milk was to begin, so we went into the nearby Babies R Us to do a little shoppin'. And during our visit, I learned that my sister is wrong - there are cute baby boy clothes.


Exhibit A - the Prep Collection.

It just doesn't get cuter than this, people. Look at that little button-down shirt, and the khaki pants, too! 100% percent adorability in my book.

Now, this wee linen jacket might be going a bit too far - but I still kinda dig it. It's so preppy and so tiny! Yet, if I were to see a small child sporting one of these at Easter or something, I'm not gonna lie - I'd most likely be saying in my head That kid looks like an effing douche.

Exhibit B - The Sun and Sport Collection.

Don't front. You know this is cute. And I'm just sayin'...I might have to pick this lil' ensemble up. Because baby aloha shirts are the diggity.

Okay, I didn't know baby rashguard shirts existed, but I JUST LOVE 'EM! What's better than dressing your baby all Baywatch-style? He could look like David Hasselhoff's kid from the show - remember Hobie? I mean, I know he became a big ol' meth head and stuff, but used to be way adorable.

And when you add in the board shorts, OMFG - adorbs!

And then there's these, and I DEFY you to find them anything less than the MOST PRESHY OF PRESHERTON. Seriously cutetastic, I'm tellin' you.

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better...

So here's the running commentary that's occurred in my head as the Octuplets Mom timeline has played out:

- OMG! A California woman had 8 babies!

- Oh my, how's she gonna take care of all those babies with the daddy working as a contractor in the Middle East?

- Ahhh! She's living with her parents, they'll help her take care of those 8 little angels straight from heaven!

- What? What's that? She already has children at home?

- I'm sorry - did you say she's got SIX OTHER CHILDREN AT HOME?

[Hyperventilating, so much hyperventilating]

- And the father? What's up with the father? Oh, she used a sperm donor? During her fertility treatments?

- Why IN THE NAME OF GOD would a woman with six kids need fertility treatments?

- Oh jebus.

- You've got to be kidding! She's been on disability since 1999, when she was injured in a mental hospital riot? Classic.

- Let me get this straight: no father to help out, parents are overburdened with the six kids already at home, NO JOB for momma. How exactly is this gonna work out?!

Hmmm...perhaps she'll just sell her story to the highest bidder and pimp her little ones out for Pampers and formula.

Just L-I-V-I-N the dream, isn't she?

Christian Bale has a most excellent command of the F-bomb.

Did you hear all about Christian Bale going batshizz crazy on the Terminator: Salvation movie set last year? I mean, I don't know how you could have missed it, what with the wall-to-wall media coverage and everything.

I personally don't get the big deal. Some jackalope walked through his line of sight and broke his concentration during the filming of what was likely a very intense sequence where he's jackin' up some cyborg's program. Look, I GET IT - that kinda thing happens to me all the time!

The three minute plus profanity-laced tirade that followed? Totes justified.

But, granted, this is coming from someone who was called a liar at work yesterday by an elderly man. And I'm not gonna lie, I seriously considered committing a little pyrogeriatrica (thanks for coining that one, Quentin!). I've a tendency to be a bit foul-tempered at times.

So there's that.

There's also this shirt, which I'm planning to have printed up with my name in place of Christian Bale's. I intend to hand these lovely shirts out to any and all MOTHEREFFERS THAT EFFING PISS ME THE EFF OFF!!!!!

Going to find my happy place now, KTHXBAI!

TMI? Gimme More!

I've complained on thisahere bloggity blog before about people sharing far too much of their intimate details with me. If it's not the appallingly bad social impacts of irritable bowel disease, it's dating horror stories. Or tales of obscure and disgusting childhood afflictions like pinworms and hand, foot and mouth disease. Okay, so I'm a good listener...I get it. But that doesn't mean I want to hear what you have to say.

This oversharing thing happens ALL THE TIME to me.

And recently, I hit the motherlode of too much information. Yeah, and it? Was EPIC.

The situation started off fairly innocuously. My pal Steverino and I were talking about breakups. Now, I haven't been through a breakup since 1994, but I've recently been talking to a friend that's going through a rough one. I mentioned to Steverino that I wished there was some kinda switch that could be flipped during breakups - like the "movin' on" switch or summat. Steverino commented that he's always had a pretty easy time walkin' away from the ladies. I guess he's just a real love 'em and leave 'em kinda guy.

Steverino went on to say he'd only really had one bad, bad breakup - and that one had [here he switched to a hushed whisper] involved an abortion. I'm sorry, whuuuut? I was not expecting that type of information, so of course - I had to make further inquiries.

Me: Wait. WAIT. What? I'm gonna need more details here, fella. What's that you say?

Steverino: Nuthin'. No big deal. She had an abortion. Well, actually - she had two. But one definitely wasn't my kid.

Me: [the mind is boggled] TWO abortions?!

S: Yeah. Those weren't the only ones, but yeah - two with that particular chick.

Me: THERE WERE MORE?! How MANY more?

S: Lessee...umm...1...2, 3...oh, and then there was Mary...I dunno, something like 4 or 5?

Me: [the horror! the horror!] I can't believe you don't remember how many women you've knocked up! What are you, some kind of ANIMAL?

S: Gimme a break! It was the 80s! Everybody was f*ckin' everybody!

Me: Yeah, that's a comfort.

Turns out, Steverino had a few more interesting yarns to share during that conversation. Like about the time his ex-girlfriend (but then current coworker) took him aside in an office conference room to let him know that she'd contracted one of them nasty little sexually-transmitted diseases...and that he needed to go ahead and get hisself checked out.

Are you kidding me? This stuff HAPPENS? Clearly, I've led a sheltered life and stuff.

Okay, so then...he goes on to tell me that he considers himself a pretty strait-laced kinda guy. But that in one of his last few relationships, every time he and his ladyfren made the lurrrvvve, she started screaming (and not in a good way, he pointed out) and went into a catatonic state.

Uhhhh. And here's where I have no idea what to say about that information.

How exactly did we go from rough breakups to post-coital catatonia? I mean, really.

And here's the deal...normally, I'd be recoiling from such detailed personal disclosures, but this time? I just needed to know more. We spent a solid hour on timelines, who-did-what-when and assorted nuances. It was some enlightening shizz.

But now I kinda feel dirty.

That doesn't seem right. I'm not the freaktacular one, dammit.

You're Welcome.

Kates found this out on the innerwebs and brought it to my attention this morning. What we have here, dear people, is something real special. I don't pretend to know every word from the Star Wars movies, but I certainly have seen them multiple times and recognize that mamacita up in here has missed a coupla major plot points. I mean, y'know, like the ENTIRETY of Empire Strikes Back and stuff.

I've watched this a lotta times today, and I fully intend to watch it some more. Because this video is awesmazing.



Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

Happy birthday to my sister!

The Best Baby Shower Ever.

Last night was my sister's baby shower and I'm not sayin' it was the best shower just because I was one of the party planners...but this was, hands down, truly the best baby shower EVAR!

First of all, it could more accurately be described as a baby shower/chili feed/rager. My sister and her husband march to the beat of their own drum, and when it came time for the shower, nontraditional was the name of the game.

I was a little concerned about simply offering up the keg of Drop Top and two kinds of chili (vegetarian and meat, natch), so my moms and I hit the Costco on Saturday afternoon to load up on all kinds of things to round out the food-type offerings. A hundred and sixty dollars later, I felt much more prepared - we had the non-alcoholic bevvies, a veggie tray, a fruit platter, salad fixins...and a giant container of licorice. I wasn't quite sure why we needed the industrial size tub of Red Vines, but my mom seemed to think it was necessary. Little did I know that later in the night, people would be tearing handfuls of licorice outta that thing. I guess Mother Knows Best after all.

The shower was held at the home of one of my sister's friends, and it was a gorgey little NE Portland domicile. She had plenty of room to accommodate the 65ish people that showed for the party, but unfortch, they all wanted to cram into the kitchen and dining nook. I was feeling a teensy bit claustrophobic there for a while.

After everyone got through their first bowl of chili, it was onto the games. We weren't down with the smell-the-baby-food-in-the-diaper or guess-mommy's-diameter games. Mainly because those games are STOOPID. Instead, the mom- and dad-to-be had to change the diapers on a couple of dolls. Blindfolded.

Hilarity ensued. Mainly because my brother-in-law, rather than concentrate on diapering his own dolly, attempted to cheat by knocking my sister's doll off the surface she'd laid her down on.

After that, all the men at the party were given baby bottles filled with beer and told they had to chug the beer without using their hands. Watching these guys use their arms, the wall and their wives' hands to hold the bottle was 100% fun. Of course, since I was busy taking photos of the contest, I could not assist Jay with his chugging endeavours. And his run at the winners circle ended badly. Because you see, his bottle ended up slipping from his mouth and spraying an amber stain all over one of our kind hostess's suede dining chairs. I swear, I can't take him anywhere.

The party continued long after the guests of honor had finished unwrapping all of the twenty-seven thousandy gifts they'd received that night. By 11:30, I was dead on my feet, but I stayed to help clean up because that is what you do when you're a par-tay planner. I didn't make it home until after midnight and immediately crashed on the couch for an hour or so until I could summon the energy to drag myself up to bed. PS - I had all of ONE BEER last night and felt like I'd been on an all-night bender when I woke up this morning. Where's the justice in that?! Rick-diculous!

Anyhoodelydoodely, it was a lovely baby shower/chili feed/kegger, and I highly recommend you look into something similar if you're ever in the market for a baby shower in the future. At a minimum, you should check out the youtube videos that come up when you search for "baby shower bottle game." Now THAT was some entertaining shizz right there.