Category Archives: Party Piece

Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something poo.

I am officially the last of da Goils to remain steadfastly and blissfully single. This past weekend, the six of us reunited once again, this time for the wedding of one of the BFFs and her lovely Chilean manfriend. (You may remember the group from our 2008 Hawaii trip.)

The night before the blessed event, everyone (minus the bride) piled into what I would like to say was a private jet, but was in reality a minivan (rock on, Mamas), and headed to a condo at the ski resort where the wedding was to take place.

Hours later, after a few marginally stiff margaritas, a ton of laughs and a dip in the hot tub under a star-filled sky (giant shooting stars and all!), the five of us called it a night. I shared a room with Hamster.

A pairing best described as Kiss Any Chance of Sleep Goodbye and Let The Ridiculousness Ensue.

Back in the day, if I wasn’t sleeping at her house, she was sleeping at mine. And now, decades later, it might as well have been 1984. Or 85. Or 86. After hours of fitful laughter, some time around 4 a.m., we decided THIS was a good idea.

{Hellooo, 11-Year-Old Boy. It’s been awhile …}

Yes, despite actually being a bit hungry, it was clear the organic energy bar languishing at the bottom of my purse had a higher calling.

After carefully molding it into shape, tiptoeing downstairs, strategically placing it for maximum impact, and of course, documenting the deed with the phone camera, we returned to our room, guffawing and nearly peeing our pants at our own comedic genius. High Art, People. (San Diego Momma, aren’t you sad I’m not going to BlogHer?)

Four hours later, the house was awake. We waited for the screams. Nothing. We failed to take into consideration that the rooms downstairs had their own bathrooms, and chances were slim anyone would use the guest bathroom with offending turd.

Fast forward to after the wedding, prior to lunch. Hamster and I are upstairs, packing our bags, when the second blessed event of the day takes place. The turd. It’s been discovered. And someone is screaming MY name.

Apparently when my friends see poo on a toilet seat, the first person they think of is me. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I must say, however, both Hamster and I gave Oscar-worthy performances. We were so good at denying the deed, by the time we left for lunch, everyone was almost convinced that a T*rd Burglar had broken into the condo while we were at the wedding.

Until a photo of Yours Truly eating an energy bar with Ham’s caption “Turd Eater” was sent to everyone’s phones.

And THAT, my friends, is what we call the Piece de Resistance.

Or at least a piece of SOMETHING.



Filed under Party Piece, Piece of Crap

New, improved, and now hair-free!


Today I turned 41. Which I suppose means that, between the passing of another year and getting engaged for the first time EVER, my inner 11-year-old boy has probably matured to … 12? Call me a late bloomer.

I (we?) thoroughly enjoyed the night’s festivities. No drinking. No debauchery. Just one spring snowstorm, Grammy’s BBQ ribs, cake, and THIS.


Best. Birthday. Present. EVAH. My family, they know the way to my heart. It’s called, “As Seen On TV!” and there’s nothin’ better. (I’m totally dismissing the less attractive reasoning for the gift which leans more toward something like, “Mommy’s getting oooold and growing hair in funny places …”)

I have high hopes. This weekend, I’m fully expecting my legs to be as smooth as an Olympic swimmer’s. Or Lance Armstrong’s. Or any of those guys who regularly shave their body parts. Which I find curiously hot, in a metrosexual-type way, but I digress.

As for the absence of celebratory drink, I MAY get guilted into partaking tomorrow night — Queen Bee, she shares the day with me, and she’s tenacious. And in the interest of full disclosure, I suppose I shouldn’t tell you the hair removal device was the best birthday present EVAH, when I haven’t told you what The Boy gave me.

Which I’m not going to do.

12-Year-Old Boy yelling over my shoulder: Remember, the Boy’s a woodworker!

You’ll have to use your imagination.

12-Year-Old Boy jumping and waving behind me: A WOODWORKER! Get it?? WOOD?!?

Yeah, not gonna tell. 

♫ Happy birthday to me … ♫


Filed under Party Piece

Hell, I already have the hypoallergenic dog …

Foolery did it. So I had to do it.


My slogan was “LET THEM EAT PIE,” but somehow, that didn’t sound right.

Go make your own campaign poster at and if you post it, include linkage in the comments. It’s fun! It’s easy! And best of all, it’s yet ANOTHER way to dick around at work!


Filed under Party Piece

New Year’s Cliff Notes

Yesterday, I was gently reminded how dismally I’ve failed at basic blog duties. (How can I ever repay you, QB?) I never recapped New Year’s Eve. Criminey.

There were good friends.

And bad cell phone cameras.


Lots to drink.


And Mommypie texting.


A dirty comb.


A dirty ass comb.


And Mommypie texting.


More drink.

More comb.


A car ride home.


Zee End.


Filed under Party Piece

Out with the old, in with the new.

Tonight, if we’re lucky, a few friends (Gigi’s Daddy, QB, my friend Megan) and I will have succeeded in rounding up a large, raucous group of people to ring in the new year.


We sent out e-invitations yesterday. I’m nothing if not optimistic.

We’re hoping for a the Faberge Effect. Everyone WE know tells everyone THEY know, who tell everyone THEY know, and so on, and so on, and so on.

I’m feathering my hair just for the occasion. Maybe I’ll meet my Tommy Lee. Or Richie Sambora. Or David Spade. (Okay, yeah. This makes no sense to you right now because you DIDN’T watch the video.)

MP’s excited to spend the night with Grammy and Poppy, which is fantastic, because Mommypie’s excited to spend the night with grown-ups. Acting like children. (Are you there, Alanis? It’s me, Mommypie.)

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, have a fantastic night, ma Doogs — can’t wait to hear all about it!


Filed under Party Piece

I met a politician I liked and forgot to ask about aliens.

I’ve pretty much made it a goal to get a photo with any famous/semi-famous person who’s path I cross. Which is nothin’ but stupid, because most don’t impress me. I totally blame the blog.

It started a few months ago with Ted Turner. Then, last week, just in time for the election, Senator Max Baucus was in our office. At first, I was like … “Meh. Not like he’s THE ONE or anything.”

I watched as local news stations interviewed him. Cringed is more accurate. Our state has THE cheesiest news broadcasts EVER. Good God, People, you’re interviewing a United States Senator. The CHAIRMAN OF THE SENATE FINANCE COMMITTEE. Can you at least give the guy a decent mic?!?



And as I listened to him speak, I began to see why the guy is SO respected round these parts. I think he’s probably a pretty decent man. Plus, after 30 years and plenty of experience in agriculture and rural revitalization, imagine the top secret X-Filesy info floating around that noggin.


As the interviews continued, I walked back to my office and Googled him. Not only is he the 10th longest-serving current senator, he has a son named ZENO. Which gives him instant AWESOME points in my book.

In light of this new information, and seeing as there was a good chance this might be the only senator I ever met, I decided I probably should do my best to meet the man. I walked back down the hall and introduced myself.

Best. Handshake. EVER.

Firm, warm, dry. I didn’t even rush to wash with anti-bacterial soap, like I normally would. (Doogs, that’s BIG.) I DID rush out to the lobby to hand QB the camera.

ME: Dude. When he comes out, can you get a picture with me in the background?

QB: What? No.

ME: C’mooon. Pleeease?

QB: No! Just Photoshop yourself into one of the photos you already got.

ME: Dude …

QB: Just ASK him.

ME: I don’t wanna.

Rather than listen to me whine anymore, QB asked for me.


And I’m officially a Groupie.


Filed under Party Piece

Best Electric Boogaloo gets my vote.

If you’re still undecided about the election, go to YouTube and search for “Barack Dancing.” Then, ask yourself the very important question: Who would you rather see dancing at the Inaugural Ball?

Michelle and Barack? Or Cindy and John?

The answer seems clear until you remember Wildcard Couple Sarah and Todd. And SP’s “Roof is on Fire” moves and Dance Face showcased on SNL last week. If the Republicans lose Nov. 4, I SO want to see her on next season’s Dancing with the Stars.

Pulling THESE dance moves:

Or maybe THESE.


Filed under Party Piece