What up, bitches!!!!!!!!!!!

I just got off of eight and a half straight days of work -- several of the days twelve hours long, or longer -- and now I'm going on vacation for a week. Doesn't leave much time for blogging, this life of polar opposites I lead. I have two pages of scribbled notes here, but I really need to keep it short cuz I gotta PACK.

( Experience for yourself Wenchie's shortest 'America's Next Top Model' recap EVAH!! )

I think it's safe to say that, where I work, the majority of the top positions in the company are held by women. And the floor I work on is where many of these women have their offices. And these women -- lemme tell you -- fabu-freakin'-lous dressers! Hands down, these are the classiest broads I know.

Today, I was sitting at my desk when my cell phone rang. Figuring it was my Mom, I answered without looking. I was surprised to hear the voice of one of these classy broads.

CB: Hi. Are you in your office?

PW: Yes...

CB: Can I ask you to do me a favor?

PW: Of course! (figuring I was to get something off her desk and bring it to some meeting she was in)

( Find out what the favor was! )

Dear Woman in the Bathroom Stall Next To Me,

There are four stalls in the 11th floor bathroom. I was in the last one, the furthest from the door. Which means there were two very convenient stalls that you could have used, leaving at least one buffer-stall between us as we powdered our noses, so to speak.

But you chose neither of those stalls. Which I find quite odd. Yes, there was a "wall" between us. But the wall goes neither to the floor nor the ceiling, so it's not so much a wall as it is the mere hint of a politeness barrier.

I don't like going potty two feet away from another person. Unless it's Billi, and then I couldn't care less because we spent at least 30% of our childhood in the bathroom together -- peeing, bathing, shaving our legs, brushing our teeth.

But as you are not my sister, I don't want you airing your hoo-ha, sphincter, and all the emissions thereof so damn close to me.

Ah, but you took it one step further, didn't you?

You collapsed onto the toilet seat and unleashed a torrential barrage of farts and excrement of various consistancies. It was noisy. It was smelly. And it was, at most, two feet from my person.

And you did it on purpose! You chose to be that close to me! You deliberately put me in the immediate vicinity of your DIARREAAAAAAA, YOU DISGUSTING PIG!!!!!!!

I can't imagine what would possess a woman to subject a sistah to that. I mean, I would expect that from a man because they like to fart in the car and roll the windows up and activate the child-proof window-locks. But I would expect a female to have a teesny, tiny bit more class than that.

I feel personally insulted and violated. I hate you and wish you unsolid, ass-burning, volcanic poop for the rest of your life.

Love, Wenchie

P.S. You left you diet A&W can on the sink. I know who you are.

On October 30, I turn thirty-nine. And today, for the first time, I had this surreal moment where I really felt like a grown-up.

Most days, I look at my tastefully-decorated house, my cool car, my two furry dependants, my schedule, my senior partner husband... and I think, "Day-um. When did I get so respectable? How am I fooling so many people? Don't they know that I'm still twenty years old? How did they let me have all this stuff?"

But today, as I walked to my car, I felt... adult. And not in the usual porno way, either.

Currently, at work, I have an office. Yes, I'm a temp, but my old boss' empty office is literally the only free desk on the entire floor. So I have an office with a door. And if I balled up a piece of paper and threw it out my office door, I'll bet I could land it in Official Title's office. That's how close I sit to greatness.

Most days, I think, "Are all these people just as retarded as I am? Are we all just fooling each other? These people think I'm a hard-working, capable, committed employee. That's insane! Who's idea was it to give me all this responsibility?!"

But today, after my meeting with the hotel representative to work out logistics for the event I'm planning, I'm like, wow. This is what grown-ups do. They go to meetings and make decisions and have other people accept those decisions. AT FACE VALUE! Simply because I'm... me?

CRAZINESS! UTTER FOOLISHNESS!

Tomorrow, I'm going in on my usual day off -- after I deliver lunches to my shut-ins -- to attend a department meeting. One of my co-workers commended me for being so conscientious as to realize that was necessary and to volunteer to attend.

ME! CONSCIENTIOUS! I almost fell out of my tasteful-yet-trendy, leather loafers!

Jesus Christ, whose shoes are these?!?!

So I strode proudly to my car, carrying my nearly-briefcase-sized Hobo International purse, with my Franklin Covey sticking out, and I felt so... satisfied. It was weird. I've been waiting my whole life to feel grown-up, and it finally happened.

Thank God I was wearing my hot pink, leopard-print panties or I never would have recognized myself.

Yesterday morning, Husband and I made the move from Wenchietown to Floodsville. And so did everyone else in our neighborhood, town, county, state. So actually, Floodsville doesn’t look much different from Wenchietown, except for the overabundance of water.

Our neighbors across the street had to carry all the furniture out of their basement, but I think they beat the water and nothing got ruined. Our neighbors to the south had water gushing up through their basement toilet, just like last year. Our neighbors on the other side of them have six feet of water in their basement, just like last year.

The S.S. Wenchie, however, remains watertight, for three reasons. One, overhead plumbing. Whoever built this house was thinking. Two, my incredibly handy Husband installed TWO sump pumps. And three, the electricity is still on.

If the electricity goes, reasons one and two aren’t going to make much difference, and we will end up like our neighbors, just like last year – FUCKED.

As I stood in my kitchen yesterday, watching my neighbors carry buckets of water outside, watching Marion’s face as she simultaneously lived the current horror and re-lived last year’s horror, I racked my brain for something I could do.

They already had five people there cleaning up water. And really, once the toilet starts gushing, there’s only so much you can do before RUN!!! is the only viable option. Then the Lutheran inside of me spoke up and said:

Wenchie’s Inner Lutheran: They need a casserole.

PW: What.

WIL: A casserole! They need a casserole! STAT!

PW: A casserole isn’t going to plug up their toilet.

WIL: Lookit Marion. Does she look like she has the time and/or energy to fix her family the warm, balanced meal that they so desperately need after spending hours in cold, filthy water, trying to save their belongings?

PW: No.

WIL: Then get out the 9x13 pans, hon. It’s casserole time.

PW: I can’t do that. I’ll look retarded.

WIL: Why?

PW: Because they need soooooooo much more than a casserole right now!

WIL: But you don’t have super powers! You can’t make the water go away!

PW: I know.

WIL: But you can make a casserole.

PW: It just seems lame.

WIL: Don’t underestimate the power of comfort food! Where would you be without comfort food?!

PW: In size six jeans.

WIL: Don’t mock comfort food. The whole foundation of Lutheranism rests squarely on a good hot dish. You just can’t argue with chicken, rice and Miracle Whip.

Husband: You know, we should really bring some food to our neighbors.

PW: Really? That wouldn’t be weird?

H: No! It’s what neighbors do! Especially if they’re Lutheran.

PW: Okay!

H: Find a good casserole recipe and make me a shopping list – I’ll run to Jewel.

PW: I’ll make some chocolate chip cookies while you’re gone!

WIL: Oh, sure, you listen to him.

PW: Zip it, ya Garrison Keeler wannabe.

So I made four Kentucky Chicken & Wild Rice Casseroles.

And yes, they really did have Miracle Whip in them.

This episode could also be called "The Bane of Uncle Twitchy's Existance." Yes, it's that time of year again. The machine that is "America's Next Top Model" comes to life for Cycle 11 to crank out another nobody who will be yesterday's news before the happy-tears even have time to dry.

A Tribue to Tyra's Limited Vocabulary

1. fierce-tastic
2. fierce-alicious
3. fierce-abulous
4. fierce-icity
5. fierce-acadabra
6. fierce-aful
7. fierce-errific

Enough already.

Thirty-three semi-finalists are in L.A. to be whittled down to fourteen.

Says Hannah from Fairbanks, Alaska, "Alaska is so different from L.A." Hannah's clear grasp of the obvious is, unfortunately, her only good attribute, as she is a homely, little thing.

Oh, holy shit. The Js are in platinum hair and silver jackets. I'm in fag-hag heaven! According to Tyra, the theme of Cycle 11 is The Future. Of which these girls have none. Tease!

The girls don bodysuits and patent leather character shoes, the likes of which Mary Poppins wore. And wore better than these no-class skanks, I might add. We are introduced to the Token Vegan-Lesbian Elina, who looks angry all the time, probably because she can't eat bacon; The Token Mormon; and The Token Asian Sheena, who is the most ghetto Asian chick I've ever seen in my life.

ANTM-tastic Quote: "I know how to have class and be sophisticated."

Miss J judges the girls' walks, all of which are beneath contempt. Then they introduce the girls to The Glaminator, which is a silver outhouse from a cheesy sci-fi movie, and tell them that each girl will go in and come out with a makeover.

ANTM-tastic Quote: "I didn't know they had that technology!"

Suddenly, The Glaminator goes crazy, and -- to the shock and awe of no one, except the 33 nitwits in the room -- out pops Tyra in a Miracle Bra, tap pants, leg warmers and a silk shrug. Truly boobalicious.

Oh my God. She addresses The Js as Alpha J and Beta Jay. I wonder how Miss J got to be the Alpha? He is clearly The Catcher in that pairing!

We get snippets of the girls interviewing in front of Tyra and The Js. One girl (I forget who) brings her lucky panties. Dear God, I hope she washed them. Analeigh was accidentally sold to a Saudi prince, but was rescued or something. And one can see how that happened cuz she's dumb as a baggie of fingernail clippings.

Says Clark, "I'll manipulate a girl with no problem if it gets me what I want." I guess The Token Girl Who Everyone Hates is white this year. And then she claims to be "strong." Because Total Fucking Bitch = Strong. Of course.

Marjorie is from Marsailles, France, but I love her despite her being a stinky frog. She's so cute! She reminds me of Audrey Tautou from that movie "Le Fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain."

The Token Mormon's parents checked her into a lockdown facility as a teenager when they discovered that she was having sex with her then-boyfriend. I wish I could remember which one she is!

Isis was in the "homeless shoot" from last season as one of the background runaways. She was "born in the wrong body" and is a pre-op tranny. But I'm not even going to mock her because she's less tranny than other girls I've seen on this show. Including half of the judges' panel.

Okay, maybe just once -- Guy-sis! Hee!

The girls all grill Isis and then spread the word amongst the others.

Sheena is from Harlem. Tyra thinks she's another Kimora Lee Simmons, in looks and attitude. God help us.

Lindsey is a plus-size model, but Tyra says she's not big enough. Man, I'd love to have Lindsey's problems. "Honey, you're gorgeous and perfectly-proportioned, but there's just not enough cake in your diet."

Hannah didn't have electricity or running water, growing up in Alaska. Isn't that child abuse?

Nikeysha has auditioned for ANTM over 30 times. She'd go to three different casting calls for each season. Or wait -- was that Joslyn? Oh, who cares.

Elina, the Lezzie-Veggie, dresses in only black and only wears pants. She doesn't like her clothing to be gender-specific. Oh great. She's fun. Gee, do you think modeling is going to entail wearing any gender-specific clothing? Can't we get Kim back, that cute lesbian from a couple seasons ago?

Whitney's Cover Girl commercial! She looks amazing! And I think they upped the production value because this one isn't as cheesey as the commercials with past winners. Husband comes out of his office to drool because he luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuvs himself some booty-licious blonde!

And speaking of commercials, I'd like to go on record -- and I think I speak for everyone here when I say -- 90210 did NOT define my generation.

One of the girls pulls a cutlet out of her bra and throws it at Tyra. Miss J wears it on his head. Yes, class abounds.

The English Lit major from Harvard has read fewer books than Tyra.

The Js are now in hot pink spandex tops. They are faggo-rific! And silver pants! Hee! While the girls put on metallic cobalt blue catsuits for a photoshoot with big, silver balls.

After the photoshoot, they are whittled down to the final fourteen: Sheena the Ghetto Asian, Analeigh the Saudi Purchase, Nikeysha, Marjorie the Frog, Lauren Brie the Alien, Brittney the African-American-Native-American, McKey the Martial Artist (was she also Token Mormon?), Sharaun of the Lucky Panties (that's the one), Hannah Plain and Tall, Isis, Clark TTGWEH, Samantha the Unremarkable, Elina the LezVeg, and Joslyn.

The girls take a bus to their new crib, and some take a dip on the pool.

ANTM-tastic Quote: "The magic of tape!" -- Isis

Some of the girls are being really sweet to Isis, but Clark is off talking smack about her to Hannah, who says that there are no trannies in Alaska. I am so tired of hearing about what Alaska doesn't have.

Did I mention that the season premiere is a two-hour show? Well, it is.

Back at their Ty-rrific house, the girls find gifts of clothing. "Model staples" like shoes, skinny jeans and black dresses.

Tyra Mail! "Fashion is not the only way to make a start." Or something. Translation: The girls have an election-issues-themed shoot with Mike Rosenthal. I love how Tyra keeps trying to make modeling relevent.

Marjorie is Immigration. Hee! Brittney is The Military. Clark is Bureaucracy, only she doesn't know what that word means. Hee!

Clark asks a couple girls who are as clueless as she is, and then she asks McKey. The look on McKey's face clearly says that she knows, but McKey tells her, "I'm not telling you." HA! Clark gets all pissy and indignant. I'm thinking that she doesn't know what Hypocrisy means, either.

Hannah is Nuclear Weapons. This is hilarious! I'm gonna bet that a hefty majority of these girls have never cracked a newspaper, let alone darkened the doorstep of a voting booth.

Isis is Privacy. There are other girls in the shot, behind the voting booth, in shadow. I think most of the girls are sympathetic to Isis, but somehow, the three picked to be behind her for the shoot are not fans. They cruelly heckle Isis the entire time.

But Isis doesn't take the bait. She merely says, "C'mon, ladies, don't do that," and continues to pose her ass off. I love her.

Sheena is Energy. And right outta the box, Jay tells her, "Don't make it hootch. If I see it getting hootchie, I'm going to yell Hootch! That's your signal." God love 'im, Jay can smell a hootchie-mama a mile away.

Jay tells Sharaun that her posing is "convaluted," but she doesn't know what that means. Jeebus H. Fierce-adellic Christ, PICK UP A BOOK, LADIES!!!

Samantha is... I can't read my handwriting. Lauren is Education. Nikeysha is Cloning. Would someone please tell me which political party is running on the Cloning platform? I need to vote for them. A solitary Bruce Campbell is just not enough Bruce for this world.

Tyra Mail! Someone's going home! I've got my list!

At Panel, Tyra gives a lecture on voting... and then segues right into prizes! Elite Modeling Agency, Seventeen Magazine, Cover Girl.

Marjorie's nerves are obvious, but her film was all good, and her photo is "divine."

Sharaun "loves to spread her legs." HA!

Clarks photos are "all the same." Elina is very sexy but "needs more neck."

Nakeysha's legs look awful, and she's got nothing but excuses. Uh-uh, honey -- no one argues with Tyra.

Samantha looks "healthy." Wow. That's kind of a backhanded compliment, no?

Analeigh is "strong."

And there's two girls who are "fierce" and "powerful and proud." But I don't know who they are. Husband was talking at me while I was watching and taking notes. What was he thinking?!?!

There was no discussion of Hannah's photo, only this exchange between her and Tyra:

"Is that a headband?"
"Yes."
"Take it off."
"Okay."
"It's too Gossip Girl."
"I love that show!"
"Oh my God, me, too!"

Weird. Deliberations!

Sheena looks "cute."

McKey's photo is "amazing," but her film "was a mess" until she started with the boxing poses. But she can't always pose like she's about to kick the photographer's ass, so she'd better learn some new material.

Lauren Brie looks like "an angel." I'm not seeing it. I think she's homely. And has a stupid name.

Isis "nails it." The judges whip out their spoons and hot fudge sauce and start eating her up. They say they can see the story behind the photo, and she's just beautiful. And they're right. Ironically, the bitches talking smack to her behind the booth probably helped create the "story" that the judges are now fawning over, so the joke is on them! I love her.

"J'adore Majorie," say the judges. As do I.

Elina takes a great photo.

Samantha needs a boy haircut to make her edgey cuz she's too commercial. Can't wait for the makeover episode!

Clark has the "worst photo of the bunch." I'm hoping that Clark gets a buzz cut, and then gets sent home right away. All for naught, little bitchy-witchy!

Joslyn is... good, I guess. I wasn't paying attention. Hannah is "a mess."

Sheena has "a rockin' body." McKey is "a knock-out."

Isis is "fantastic." The judges all agree that "she's a model." And more importantly? She's "smart." I'll bet Isis has read a book or two.

The girls are called back in to get their photos. As a new twist, the first girl called will get her photo digitally displayed on a screen in the house, so she can rub all the other girls' noses in it all week. And it's Marjorie! Wheeeeeeee!

Isis is called second. And everyone is called but Sharaun and Nikeysha because Sharaun is an idiot, and Nikeysha has already given up.

But Nikeysha gets her photo because arrogance is just bad manners, and Sharaun stupidly displayed hers in front of Nigel. Tsk tsk, Sharaun. She leaves sobbing.

I love it when the conceited chicks get their comeuppance.

Next week: Benny Ninja. Ick.

I didn't check my hands after lunch before finishing my nail polish job. At work, yes. So I just shellacked a bit of tomato sauce to my thumbnail.

Last night, I dreamed that I had a Silly String fight with Collin Farrell.

Anyone wanna take a crack at that?

Here. To the people with the strangest knowledge base I know.

So, Husband and I have been watching "Rome" on DVD, and he really likes those leather things the men wear on their forearms. You know, 6 in. long, made of leather.

You know where this is going.

Anyone know where I can get some of those? Well-made, I'm willing to pay for quality. And preferrably someone you've had experience with, someone you can vouch for.

What the heck are those things called, anyway?

Today is National Women's Confidence Day.

You know what would give me more confidence? If people would quit coddling me with shit like Women's Confidence Day.

Is there an Awareness Ribbon for Women's Confidence? What color is it? Is stupid a color?

I don't think our problem is that we don't have enough confidence. I think it's that men don't have enough confidence in us. I have confidence coming outta my ass, but that doesn't mean they're going to stop patting me on the butt and staring at my tits while ignoring everything I say.

We need a National Men's Awareness That Women Are Just As Important As They Are Day. In conjunction with a Quit Being Such an Arrogant Prick Ribbon.

And wearing false eyelashes every day. That would give me more confidence, too.

I'm not meeting Vicki to see a movie for another three and a half hours. So... what to do...? I can either eat some cream cheese dip in front of the t.v., or masturbate.

Is it possible to eat dip while masturbating?

Do I dare try...?

Your results:
You are Dr. Doom

Dr. Doom 74% Lex Luthor 71% Magneto 69% Apocalypse 56% Mr. Freeze 53% Poison Ivy 52% Dark Phoenix 52% Venom 51% The Joker 48% Mystique 48% Catwoman 44% Juggernaut 44% Two-Face 44% Kingpin 37% Green Goblin 36% Riddler 35%

Blessed with smarts and power but burdened by vanity.

Click here to take the "Which Super Villain am I?" quiz...


Wow. Have nine little words ever been more true?

If I were a superhero, my name would be FabuHair. One flick of my head would lull men into complacency so they would do anything I want.

...

Kind of like now, but I'd be wearing a cape.

You are a Social Liberal (65% permissive) and an... Economic Moderate (43% permissive) You are best described as a: Centrist Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

And for the record: I would dictate that classes on marriage and child-rearing be taught in high schools, all years. It's the most important thing many of us will ever do, and yet we're expected to fly by the seat of our pants and be great at it. Ridiculous.

Yesterday, I got a full-body massage.

Today, I got a facial. And a new Hobo International leather purse.

Go ahead -- hate me.

You know what I hate about Kraft EZ Mac? That so much cheezy goodness gets stuck to the inside of the bowl, and I can't fit my head in the bowl to lick it off. So I guess it's actually the bowl's fault. Because EZ Mac is perfect.