Hair Thursday Coming Soon…Packing Hysteria Takes Precedence

Hair Thursday is going to be late due to the fact that I’m leaving for Boston at 5:45 IN THE MORNING. I’m not sure if you have noticed with Daylight Savings Time, but 5:45 IN THE MORNING is a very dark time. Very night-like.

My current packing situation looks like this:

In clockwise order from top left: D’s pile of shit, Whoorl’s pile of shit, Wito’s pile of shit.

This East Coast weather thing has me all sorts of confused. Temperature in the 40’s, possibly the 50’s, possible rain, possible snow, possible sun, possible wind gusts, possible GOD HELP ME JUST TELL ME WHAT TO WEAR.

All of my shoes were meant to be worn on bare feet. I don’t have socks, people. This is one of the side effects of living in the land of warm sunshine. You abandon socks! The liberation!

I was advised to bring gloves. Negative, Ghostrider. In fact, I don’t even own a winter coat that isn’t under 6 years old.

Anyhoo, mass confusion at this here point in time.

Maybe I’ll finish Hair Thursday tomorrow night when it’s midnight and I’m wondering why I can’t sleep.

(Another stressful issue: It is almost midnight in Boston! Yet, I just ate dinner here! Confusion!)

The Miracle Ham Adventure

Friday, December 28th, 2007. The day that altered my life forever.

Picture this. A chilly day spent on my grandmother’s ranch in Oklahoma. After a fairly uneventful drive from Oklahoma City, we arrive with gifts in tow. Why, here we are, relaxing on (read: breaking) my grandma’s Lazy Boy.

Christmas at my grandmother’s home is a very relaxed affair. A down home meal, homemade pies, sweetened tea and some football. Usually, I end up sitting on the above chair for most of the 5-hour visit.

Except for this particular day- I heard my father and grandmother talking about some fantastic, life-altering ham and how he just HAD to have one to take back to the city. Some shuffling and jingling of keys ensued, and before I knew it, my dad was heading out the door.

Normally, this wouldn’t have phased me- I mean, it takes a lot to get my ass out of that fine leather chair, but for some reason, I found myself yelling, “Dad! I wanna go! Hold up!” He inquired incredulously, “You want to go pick up a HAM with me?”

“YesIwannagosomeonewatchmybabyokayfineseeya!”

Thus began our adventure to secure The Miracle Ham. Through two small towns and a very desolate 2-lane highway, the entire time listening to my father boast about a damn ham. “It isn’t injected with ANYTHING! Such smoky flavor! Hung to dry! Natural! The best flavor you’ve ever tasted!”

Luckily, I had his new iPhone to play with, thus counterbalancing the ham sermon. However, I was very careful to interject a well-placed “uh-huh…you don’t say…mmm, smoky” along the way.

I guess, in my mind, I assumed we were heading to a retail operation, such as a Honeybaked Ham store (although, YOU HAVE NOTHING ON THE MIRACLE HAM, FOOLS!) Little did I know that we were going to spend some quality time here:

The iPhone came in quite handy, you see.

I looked at my father and asked, “Is this, like, a meat production plant-type establishment?”

To which he replied, “I do reckon, little lady, now git over yonder!”

(My extremely suave and well-spoken father hasn’t lived in a small town since 1967, yet transforms into Smiley Burnette within a 20-mile radius of his old stomping grounds.)

We walked up to the door, me skittishly standing in my father’s new-found cowboy shadow, and what I saw next was marvelous.

A smoky office about the size of an elevator with what looked to be a 113-year-old woman sitting at a desk, smoking some Kool Menthols. Across the cluttered desk sat her grandson and great-grandkids, looking at us as if we were just transported from Mars.

Keep in mind, the Miracle Ham Establishment isn’t even located in a town. It is in the middle of nowhere, and I’m guessing the owner/operators of the MHE do not have daily run-ins with people donning winter white peacoats and iPhones. It was a little awkward on my part.

However, Smiley was having a ball.

“Well, HOWDY, Miss Jones! It’s me, Ronny! Arlene’s boy! How ya doing? I was hopin’ I could buy one of those deeelicious hams of yours. I’m fixin’ to head out to the big city, and I sure would like a taste!”

*insert overdramatic eye-rolling on my part*

However, my eye-rolling was cut short when I noticed the young great-grandson (10 years old, tops!) eyeing me like I was a juicy ham myself. People, he licked his lips and with great (and unnecessary) fervor.

Let’s see - Smiley Burnette in one corner, Kool Menthol Elder and 10-Year-Old Pervert in the other. Things couldn’t get much more uncomfortable when, all of the sudden, the front door busted open. As I peered through the thick smoke, I saw the silhouette of a Very Large Man yelling, “Give me my hooves! I need my hooves!”

Kool Menthol Elder - “Well, why on earth would you need some hooves?”

Very Large Man - “Because I’m building my GUN RACK! DO YA RECKON?”

10-Year-Old Pervert - *licking lips*

At this point, I was trying to silently delineate if pigs even had hooves, and if not, what kind of hooves did he mean? More importantly, WHY WAS I IN THIS SITUATION IN THE FIRST PLACE.

I quickly decided I was going to turn around and face the wall. Sure, it might look strange, but trust me, it was my best option.

I turned around, expecting a wall, when I realized it was a glass window. A glass window looking into the meat production “area”. Holy hell. May I just use a few words?

Pig. Parts. Blood. Rust. Raw. Machines.

I’ll let you take that for what it’s worth. I looked at my father and mouthed, “Halp.”

Thank God, at this point, a lovely lady (wearing the world’s bloodiest apron and a poorly-bandaged thumb) appeared with our Miracle Ham. Fantastic.

We said our goodbyes and made our way back to car, feeling much dirtier than before we left. (Well, at least on my part. Smiley was singing about billy goats or something.)

We returned to my grandmother’s house just in time for the big meal. And you know what? I ate two slices of The Miracle Ham.

Now, I’m not really a ham person, but that Miracle Ham? It was damn good.

Adventures With Hoagies

Adventures with hoagies - complete with visual and audio pleasure! (Tasty AND sexy!)

Multiple choice. Christmas day is approaching. It’s 32 degrees outside and snowing with wind gusts up to 35 miles an hour. Conditions are deteriorating rapidly, roadways are quite slushy and it’s colder than a witch’s tit. What do you do?

1) Make hot chocolate, wrap yourself in a cashmere throw and hunker down for the day.

2) Gather the family around the fireplace and sing Christmas carols.

3) Order pizza and watch some favorite DVDs.

4) Drive clear across town (and when I say across town, I mean across Oklahoma City, the SEVENTH LARGEST CITY IN AMERICA IN TERMS OF LAND AREA) to pick up a 4-foot hoagie.

Awwww, yeah. You know the answer to that.

Now, before I go any further, I must inform you that our family has a certain Griswold-esque charm. We’ve had some interesting situations in the past, therefore, we prefer to stay on the down low for our own safety, and the safety of those around us.

Like the time we were enjoying a family barbecue at my home. Dad was cooking steaks outside and the ladies were taking care of side dish duties in the kitchen. I remember washing fruit at the sink, when I suddenly noticed our extremely ancient and DRY pine tree bursting into flames in the backyard.

Turns out, my father had chucked a tiny, flaming piece of beef over his shoulder while grilling outside. That tiny, flaming piece of beef landed ever-so-softly in the ancient and DRY pine tree, and well, the rest is history.

Oh, how I long for you, Mr. Pine. Rest in Peace.

So, um yeah. The Griswolds.

After our gratuitous, smiley “I’m gonna blog this, heh” photo, we hunkered down and got serious. We had a toddler in the car, you know.

We decided it was best not to talk - we needed to focus on the task at hand. That was until Feliz Navidad came on the radio.

Game over. This was the result. (Little did my family know that I was utilizing the Voice Memo feature on my phone. BWHAHHAHAAA.) Notice how the chorus of Feliz Navidad quickly dissipates into “Blahdadaadablaaa”. The family that sings together stays together.

Then, as we were cruising a cool 40mph and caroling in faux-Spanish, this came into our view.

Dear person,

Not really a good place to leave your trailer. OKTHXBAH.

Love, Whoorl

I’m pretty sure my mother was trying to explain how, in Oklahoma, people leave their rusty trailers filled with garbage wherever they please, even if that place is smack dab in the middle of a 45 mph roadway.

Wito was all, “That’s some crazy shit, Grandma! Holla!”

It was not the most optimal day to be on the roads, but the streets weren’t icy yet. We decided to press onwards.

When we finally arrived at our destination, it was quite shiteous outside.

However, Bishop Stu Tu procured our 4-foot hoagie with careful precision. FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, DON’T SLIP WITH THE HOAGIE! SECURE THE HOAGIE!

Did I mention this massively long hoagie (which almost didn’t fit into the SUV), was going to be consumed by a mere 5 people?

So, I ask of you. Was the 4-foot hoagie really necessary?

Someone, please save me from the crazy.

Stay tuned for Adventures In Rural Oklahoma: Whoorl’s Visit To A Meat-Packing Plant Straight Out Of Deliverance!

DOH!

I’m leaving in one hour- heading to Oklahoma for the holidays with Wito by MYSELF. (D is meeting us later.)

I wrote this yesterday and learned lots of good tips.

The one thing I forgot, though? TO CHARGE THE FUCKING DVD BATTERY.

Commence hysterical laughing/crying hybrid.

The Birthday Boy

Wito experienced a 5-day birthday bonanza complete with 2 parties and grandparental coddling beyond belief. The child was spoiled ROTTEN- trust me, I’m still paying for it 6 days later.

Our typical day since we’ve been back home:

“Mamamamammaaaaa, mamamamaamaa. MAMAAMAMAAAAAAAAAAAAA.”

He wants to be picked up, he wants down, no wait, he wants up, DAMMIT, HE WANTS DOWN. GAH. WHY CAN’T YOU READ MY MIND, WOMAN?

“Mamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaa.”

Thanks, mom and dad. Really.

I guess I’ll let them off the hook considering they hosted the greatest 1st birthday bash ever. Great food, people, and the Trinity of Sweets - cake, cupcakes AND cookies. Oh, and wine. LOTS of wine - 6 hours of wine consumption, to be exact.

First birthday parties usually don’t involve a terribly high level of alcohol consumption, but my parents were also hosting Blogher 2.0, Oklahoma-Style. I can’t tell you how surreal it was to open my parents’ front door and see Heather, Susan and Shana looking back at me. (Well, not so much Shana Banana. We’ve had our fair share of Okie vino.) All three were just lovely, especially standing in the midst of many, many strangers. I’m sure my mother put Heather at ease when she exclaimed, “Of course I know you! You’re from the Dunkin’ Donuts video!” However, the deal was sealed when they kept completely straight faces as I explained to my inlaws how we all met at a scrapbooking convention in Reno. It was true love from that point on.

The four of us laughed and sipped (okay, more like gulped) wine long after the last birthday guests trickled out of the door. 6 hours later, and less than 9 hours until Heather’s flight, we said our goodbyes. Such fun, those ladies!

Let’s get back to the man at hand, shall we? He had so much fun seeing all of his relatives and Okie friends. The best part was his birthday cake celebration - he just sat there staring at it for several minutes until my sister coaxed him into licking a little bit of icing. Then, it was ON. The boy ingested sinful amounts of frosting, but promptly gagged (in an extremely dramatic fashion, imagine that) when he tasted the actual chocolate cake. We’ll have to discuss that later, Wito.

I am still shocked that he didn’t experience much of a sugar high or have tummy troubles. What a little man.

A couple of days later, my aunts hosted a Sip-n-See party for 70 of my mother’s closest friends. These 2 photos tell the story better than I ever could.

Pssst. See those ladies over there? They are trying to hug me. They sure smell nice, but don’t they know I need my space? If you need me, I’ll be trying to escape out the window.

Dear God, when will this be OVER? I’M NOT A PUPPET, PEOPLE.

All in all, we had such a great time with all of our friends and family in Oklahoma. It’s hard to believe that Wito has graced us with his presence for an entire year. I truly can’t wait for all of the adventures to come.

You’ve come a long way, Wito. I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Oh, and I will never tire of hearing you say, “Mamamama”. Even if it is the 412th time that day.

I Have Been Neglectful. Enjoy My Excuses!

Hi! I’m in Oklahoma!

Oklahoma is OK, thanks for asking. It’s hot. Very hot. Yesterday, I ran at 6:30 in the morning and died.

The end.

****************************

Currently, my brain will only assimilate sentences suitable for small children. And lists - I can deal with lists, so let’s go.

1. Remember our lovely beach bungalow up for sale for eleventy billion dollars? Remember the sadness at the thought of moving? Followed by the confident realization that NO ONE in their right mind would purchase such a bungalow for the unbelievably exorbitant price?

Well, I was right. No one would purchase our home for that much money.

But, they did purchase it for the unbelievably exorbitant price minus a large chunk of change.

In escrow. Inspections currently in process.

Hi! Did I mention we are in Oklahoma?

2. Let’s not dwell. Looks like the new owner might keep us in the property. Can everyone keep their fingers crossed?

3. It’s Wito’s 1st birthday! Big party this afternoon! With sugar and presents and a mini-Blogher conference. Shall we call it Blogher 0.5?

4. Many preparations are in order, so I must say goodbye for the time being. I’ll be back, post-sugar highs and wine headaches.

Happy Birthday, Wito!

Incoherent Rambling and a Dunkin Donut

About a month ago, I made a promise to some Very Important People that I would not come back from Blogher and write about all of the AMAZING and TALENTED women I met during the process like everyone else.

(Although, I did! They were really, really fantastic!) (And that doesn’t count because of the parentheses.)

Since I’m a lady of my word, you will have witness the AMAZING and TALENTED women over at my Flickr set.

My only regret was the lack of time spent with some of the lovelies. I’m looking at you Leah squared, Yvonne, Kris, Stacy, SJ, etc.- 5 minutes here and there was NOT enough.

Oh, and when I swallowed my tongue after the utterly radiant Holly complimented my gold shoes.

Instead, please direct your attention to my late-night rambling in the fabulous company of Heather (aka- The Girl Who Orders Vegetable Wraps From Dunkin Donuts) and Shana Banana. Bonus points for anyone who can decipher what I’m saying during the middle. Also, my bloodshot eyes and open-mouth chewing? Sweet Ass Jebus.

UPDATE: It seems as a retaliatory measure, Heather has posted a video of yours truly engaging in some shady dance moves. I am offering my public apology right now.

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