Month: June 2010

Tuesday nights with Sleepless have proved to be very entertaining. This evening, the group was comprised of six females and one male, per the request of BeauD (whose name was soon to change) – who was the one male. “I just wanted to be That Guy, just once,” said That Guy (the male formerly known as BeauD).

Within minutes of That Guy joining us, one of the other patrons approached us, “How did you do it? Six women?!?! I’ve got an idea, I’m Bossley, from the ’70s series, and you’re Chuck, from the movie. That’s why there are six girls. Three from the series, three from the movie. Don’t worry Chuck, I’ve got your back.” That Guy replied, “And I’ve got the tape recorder.” Bosley then took his beer with him to the urinal. Probably had a bad experience with a roofie.

Tile was telling us stories about some of her “contractors,” Grout included (https://steelblue-gnu-362056.hostingersite.com/2010/06/phd/), and I asked if she ever got competing bids. She has not, however, is considering do so. As Tile would tell her stories, both That Guy and No Secrets would pipe in with important details. For example, she was telling us about a couple of her friends and as she mentioned a particular name, That Guy piped in, “She slept with him too.” When she told us she did not sleep with Plaster of Paris (a dentist she knows who made a mold of his penis), No Secrets quipped, “Not technically.” This upset Tile, “What? Why would you say that?” “I was just playin’,” replied No Secrets. “No you weren’t,” said Tile. “Well you’re supposed to pretend I was just playin’,” was No Secrets response.

In addition to talking about the skills of Tile’s contractors, we discussed their age.  This sparked a question from Sleepless, “Does age matter?” We all looked shocked (not as shocked as we did after a later comment, but shocked nonetheless). “No, really, I don’t know. I’ve only been with two. My bed needs bandannas.” “Why bandannas?” OregganO asked. “Instead of a notch on my bedpost, I thought bandannas.” Very ’80s of Sleepless.

This reminded Tile of the time she and That Guy were drinking and decided to list all of her contractors on a napkin. I told her that was not a napkin, rather, a tablecloth – no way it would fit on a napkin. Sleepless then decided to list her ‘two’ on a small piece of paper. No Secrets suggested she write in big font so it looked like more. She did. She also wrote one of their full names – in an attempt to make the list  look longer. That Guy then shared a story  about a girl he liked. When he first started talking with her she told him she had a boyfriend. Later she told him she has a missionary. “That’s how you put the hurt on the guy,” That Guy sadly stated, “Tell him you have a missionary.”

It was about this time that Bosley reappeared. “Are you tuckered out yet?” he asked That Guy. “You better get fired up on JD just to stay up all night. How about one pose for the road ladies? With your guns and shit, just like in the series and the movie.” We respectfully declined and he retreated to the urinal, beer in hand.

Skiwi is the kind of guy who can find a great deal and is always willing to share his deals and skills with others. Last night I stopped by his house to have him assist me with a simple DVD project. As we were making our way to the audio/visual area, we passed the table of Mary Kaye products that are currently on the market. As always, he graciously and proudly offered to sell any one of them to me for a good price.

Once we got the DVD project going we headed out to the patio bistro for a glass of 2 Buck Chuck – he had just purchased several cases because the price was right. While sitting on the bistro we started talking about transportation costs and the benefits of riding your bike to work. He thought Disco Dancing Dog Groomer might enjoy a nice early morning (7ish) bike ride to work each day. She looked at him, puzzled, and said, “How long have we been dating? One week? Why would I ever want to do that? At 7 AM I am still sleeping and you are walking around the house making noise.”

A few minutes later the conversation turned to the items in their garden. I noticed they had a lovely salvia plant and told them some people don’t just like them in their garden, rather, they enjoy the hallucengic aspects of the plant. Skiwi had no idea his yard possessed a product with such street value and his wheels started turning. Disco Dancing Dog Groomer suggested he make trades for the salvia, “You can tell people, ‘salvia – will trade for basil.'” “I better make sure I say it clearly, I’ve got a friend called Sylvia and if I accidentally trade her for basil I could be in a lot of trouble.”

This afternoon I went to dance class with Sleepless. Prior to arriving at class she had spent the afternoon poolside sipping on spirits. Class was small today, only five of us, including the instructor, Juicy PSI. As we would “make our own movement,” the majority of the class (yes, four of us) would dance together near the center of the dance floor. Not Sleepless. She would dance around the outskirts of the dance floor, not a care in the world. When I would approach her, she would giggle and whisper, “I’m mildly drunk.”

After class we retreated to my house to prepare for a neighborhood party. My neighbors live down the street (in my old neck of the woods) and are moving away, thus, had a party. I invited Sleepless to attend the party with me and warned her that Quagmire the Farting Ventriloquist may be in attendance. She felt it would be a good idea if we made t-shirts with “sweeping” slogans on them. So, we grabbed our markers and made personalized t-shirts. Her shirt read, “Clean Sweep.” Mine, “Spins and Rotates.” If nothing else, we thought we were funny.

After making an appearance at the party we reunited with Juicy PSI for dinner. Upon entering the restaurant I was surprised to see my Italian instructor, That’s Not Italian, eating dinner and rubbing the leg of a very young, not Italian, man. It reminded me of one of my favorite children’s books, Miss Nelson is Missing. Teachers aren’t supposed to do “normal” life activity, so it is odd when you see them do just that.

Once the shock of seeing That’s Not Italian wore off, we began talking about my recent adventures in Europe. Juicy PSI informed us she has an opportunity to go to Paris for $900 – airfare and lodging. We told her that was an incredible deal and she should absolutely do it. She stated she can’t because she already has plans to go to Boulder (Colorado) for a week. A few minutes later I was telling her how I had taken the bus from Amsterdam to Paris. “You can take the bus?” asked Juicy PSI. “I had no idea, I’m going to have to get a map.” Sleepless and I gave each other the “What did she just say?” look and I responded, “A map? To see what? How to get from Boulder to Paris?” She’ll probably need more than a map.

This afternoon I joined BeCuz and her family for some pool time. We pretty much had the pool to ourselves, so I suggested we do Noodle Contests. We each grabbed a noodle and prepared for the first competition: making your way across the pool as fast as you could with the noodle as your motor, per say.

 

BeCuz opted for the sideways straddle, Anime Activist wrapped his around his back and I attempted an under the arm tactic. Anime Activist won. Being slightly competitive (which is completely situational – I have a lot of confidence in my noodle skills), I suggested we try it again, using a different noodle method. BeCuz and Anime Activist both tried my previous method. I straddled the noodle and did what we affectionately referred to as “jerking the noodle,” for extra speed. This kicked off a slew of noodle comments: “You can’t have that many noodles all at once,” “Quit pulling my noodle,” “Should I be concerned about these holes on my noodle?” and, when Anime Activist was teaching BeCuz to blow water through the noodle, “Don’t suck, just blow.” Who knew pool noodles could be so much fun?

 

Later in the day Tree and FatGirl stopped by for drinks. We decided to walk down to the park (yes, the same one mentioned just a few days ago) so Tree could walk on the ground near the swings (amazingly soft and slightly cushioned). FatGirl was extremely excited about the swings and offered to push both Tree and I. Tree respectfully declined, “My feet drag as it is.” I asked how he knew this since we had just barely arrived. Apparently, while we were hanging with the street ravers the other night, Tree had a quick swing. FatGirl was pushing me with every bit of strength he had. As I started to slow down, my foot hit the ground and the swing started moving in directions completely opposite of straight. Somehow, the swing started to twist and tip, causing my one shoe to come off, my legs to go flailing (I had on a dress) and FatGirl to squeal, “Did I just see snatch?” I quickly attempted to regain my composure and decided now might be a good time to tell them about the poolside noodlefest.

Last night That’s Not Chinese, Tree, and I planned to hold a private Citizen Cope concert at my house. Tree ended up having to work late, so That’s Not Chinese and I got the privilege of spending several hours on the stoop. We had only been on the stoop about 30 minutes when Naked Neighbor made his appearance. That’s Not Chinese was entertained by this – I’m used to it, standard practice. A few minutes later, two police cars pulled up. “Oh, oh, here we go, here we go,” exclaimed That’s Not Chinese. She had thought Naked Neighbor might be in trouble, not the case. The officers went to a house down the street. I grabbed my camera, hit the zoom, and took a picture of Naked Neighbor for That’s Not Chinese – souvenir.

As often happens when police show up (or when my friends show up), the neighbors were gathering together, gawking and gossiping. Naked Neighbor even joined in the festivities. Fortunately he was standing behind a garbage can, so his bits were unseen. Not Naked Neighbor, who I had not met prior, made his way toward my stoop and advised us there had been an attempted burglary across the street. I told That’s Not Chinese that was exactly why I didn’t live on the West side…of the street. We invited Not Naked Neighbor to join us on the stoop for wine and food.

We had just finished a lovely meal of Hebrew Nationals and broccoli when Alice drove by – ten minutes later, she was with us on the stoop. Shortly after that, Tree and So Shy arrived. Unfortunately, we never had the private Citizen Cope concert. We did, however, get to observe some rather entertaining activity in the park, when we were walking Alice home. On the West side of the park, there was a group of guys having a rave of sorts, doing the butterfly and other fancy moves with their glow sticks. Just East of them was a 60+ year old man and a young woman (maybe in her 30s) who were getting ready to get busy on their blanket. We gave them our well wishes.

This morning, I was cleaning up the remains of the evening and my Next Door neighbor was out on his stoop. I filled him in on last night’s activities and, as we were talking, another neighbor walked by, got in his car and drove away. “There’s the peer,” said Next Door. “He likes to pee as soon as he gets out of his car – day or night.  Does not care, just pulls it out and pees.” Yet another amazing stoop observation.

Tonight, I had the privilege of spending the evening on my friend’s stoop. One of the stoopsters was donning a sporty hat and smoking a cigar when he declared, “Tonight, I’m going to get soused. It’s a ’50s term.” A little later, when he was soused, one of the other stoopsters gave him some sound advice, “Hey, put your peanut back in your shorts.” Apparently, the manner in which he was sitting – which was pleasing to him – was not pleasing to others. Too bad he doesn’t live in my neighborhood – I have a feeling he and Naked Neighbor would get along very, very well.

Summer solstice occurred this week and with it, Venn’s birthday. As has been the case lately, we were going to go to a concert (to celebrate) and ended up not. Instead, Sleepless and I were hungry – nearly starving to death, I’m positive we each only had a few hours of life left in us had we not eaten – so we requested a food celebration. Venn asked for restaurant ideas and we provided them. He wasn’t keen on any of our suggestions and, since it was his birthday, we opted for the Mexican restaurant he wanted to go to on the west side of town.

Sleepless and I arrived to find Venn patiently waiting for us on the patio. OregganO soon joined us to find her drink and meal ordered and waiting for her – the girl knows how to get what she wants. Party Favor, our waiter with the light eyes, long eyelashes and a curly mop of brown locks on top his head, was wearing a pin disclosing where he shops. We asked him what he purchases there and he informed us crack and whores. Nothing says summer like a whore with a side of crack or vice versa.

It soon became clear that all of our eyes were bigger than our stomachs so we asked for to go boxes. Party Favor, to be clear, asked, “So you want a box.” “Yes, I like box,” I replied. And then we all had a good laugh. Being the only man at the table, and having the most leftover food, Venn took on the responsibility of filling our boxes with his sloppy seconds.

Party Favor returned and started telling us he really doesn’t shop for crack and whores – he’s a professional, not a hofessional – rather, he just rents movies from the local video store. “Every night after work I rent ‘The Wire,’ go home and watch it, return it the next day and rent another, it is all I do.” Sleepless suggested he not share that story with any other patrons or anyone else for that matter. We then all grabbed our boxes and headed home.

Last night I got the pleasure of hanging out with The Leaver, QuQueen and Trinity. We were supposed to go to a concert (CocoRosie), however it was sold out so we decided to play Boggle instead. The Leaver was spewing fabulous commentary, as usual. We had questioned her on her spelling of ‘rufy’, which was correct, and she replied, “I’ve been drugged, it’s a word!” Later, we started another game and decided the letter options were horrible so QuQueen reshook. This action upset The Leaver, “Why did you do that? I had three words: wine, when, whey. I was on a roll here.” Her comments made me think back to some of the comments I cherish from my interactions with friends in Europe.

The first night in Amsterdam Quality Not Quantity invited us to dinner at his place one evening and it was amazing. As we were talking about the many meals he makes he told me, with great conviction, “I will make you something you will love the hell of.” I’m looking forward to this meal.

Later, we were at Cafe Soundgarden drinking and playing pool and I had somehow managed to win both games of pool. Rusty Rogue Rafael, who had previously told me, “You call me Rafael and I’ll call you Cordelia,” was proper impressed with my two for two status and stated, “You’re winning 100% of the time in Amsterdam. You should stay.”

Canal Jumper, who occasionally jumps in canals to complete a good night of drinking, had some of the best comments. He was checking his email and I asked if he got a lot of junk mail. “Yes. Usually from women wanting to marry me.” Later, we were talking about mishaps in life and he eloquently stated, “Life is like sex. When it’s good, it feels great. Doesn’t it? And when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.” One night, as we were getting ready to go out for the evening, he grabbed his cologne, shook his head, and said, “I’ve got to get a job. I’m almost out of cologne.”

And then there is Maverick Midget King. He had so many great comments I wrote a whole entry about them: https://steelblue-gnu-362056.hostingersite.com/2010/06/100-perfect/.

As most of you know, I’ve got a little bit of a library thing going on. Yesterday, as soon as I got home from France, I decided to go to the library. I grabbed my library card from my bag and headed to the car. Once I got in the car, I couldn’t find the card. I looked for it for a good 45 minutes before finally giving up. For some, it might seem strange that I could lose the card that easily, but I have a tendency to get sidetracked and do things like clean, pull weeds, read, etc, before finally making my way back to my original plan.

Upon arriving at the library I told them of my dilemma. No big deal for them, they quickly issued me a new card. Kind of a big deal for me, like a new boyfriend, now I’ve got a new number to memorize. Like an old boyfriend, my old card was waiting for me in the flowerbed (right where I had pulled weeds) – somehow they always know when they’ve been ‘replaced.’

Skiwi is also a library lover and, on his own accord, has taken on the daunting task of backing up some of the library’s materials – just in case. Today he invited me to stop by his patio bistro for wine and hors d’oeuvres (in honor of my recent travels). I arrived to the sounds of French music playing and the bistro set for three (Disco Dancing Dog Groomer would soon be joining us). Skiwi had stopped by the library and retrieved various CDs with music from around the world – special for the bistro tonight. We had a lovely international meal of sorts. He had Czech beer, we shared American wine, had potstickers for hors d’oeuvres, and Pims cookies, Bounty bars and mango for dessert.

Disco Dancing Dog Groomer had to sneak away to finish a project for work, at which point Skiwi began trying to sell Mary Kaye products to me. It looks like I will have satin lips and hands sooner than I had thought. After selling Mary Kaye to me, we shared stories about our latest adventures and day-to-day tasks at work. Skiwi practiced his marketing pitch on me and I told him about the otter pop incident in my office that resulted in me being a hot and sticky mess – I should have heeded ROFL’s sound otter pop consumption advice. Oh well. C’est si bon!

I met both goals in Amsterdam and made my way to Paris without incident. I have, however, been charged with opening a kabab shop to make money should I move to Europe. Call Me Rafael and I took the bus, leaving Amsterdam around 10 PM and arriving in Paris just before 6 AM. Call Me Rafael’s friend would not be “retrieving” us until much later in the evening, so we put our luggage in a locker and enjoyed as much as Paris as two can after little to no sleep, pain au chocolat, a couple bottles of wine at the bistro cafe, and McDonald’s (oui, MickeyD at Pyrenees) to soak up the day’s adventures.

We were retrieved around midnight by two French men (one of whom, Maverick Midget King, worked with Call Me Rafael in Italy several years ago) and they took us to our secret hideaway in Angicourt (http://www.angicourt.fr), just North of Paris. Maverick Midget King speaks very little English and most of what he speaks he learned from Call Me Rafael. Upon arriving, he asked me, “Are you hungry?” “No, merci,” I replied. “You?” “No,” said Call Me Rafael. “Good. I don’t have anything for you. We shop tomorrow.”

We shopped ‘tomorrow’ and bought food for a barbecue with some of Maverick Midget King’s roommates (Patrick and ProRider) and friends. In addition to a delicious apple tart for dessert, we decided to build a fire in the barbecue and toast marshmallows, “American style.” Maverick Midget King and Rusty Rogue Rafael (his name was changed during a ‘cowboy’ adventure) were standing around the barbecue/fire pit when Maverick Midget King quipped, “Campfire is very nice. We are like homeless and will drink wine and fight over trolley.” It should be noted, because it is funny, that on one occasion we were meeting up with one of Maverik Midget King’s friends and, prior to meeting him, we were ‘forewarned,’ “His face is funny, it will make you laugh – but don’t laugh out loud, because that is rude. Sireus (serious).”

Rusty Rogue Rafael and I spent a lot of time teaching English (slang, of course) to Maverick Midget King while he taught French (proper) to us. When one of us would do well, even when that ‘one’ was Maverick Midget King himself, he would offer congratulations, “Ah, 100% perfect!” If I work on my language skills, Canal Jumper, Rusty Rogue Rafael and Maverick Midget King think I could easily handle working at a kebab shop. Maverick Midget King even has a sign I can use (he commandeered it from a shop in another town and we tied it to the front gate….no bites yet).

The day before Rusty Rogue Rafael (aka, Cheesycake….another pet name awarded by Maverick Midget King) headed home, we ventured into Paris again. This time, with Maverik Midget King. We drove to the train station in his girlfriend/car, Clio. Maverick Midget King advised me to “Lay low. No, really, lay low.” He had no back seat, so I had to lay low in the trunk. Clio only preferred two at a time and three is “strictly forbidden.” Maverick Midget King took us to one of his favorite secondhand shops, Hippy Market, and informed us we could find “2nd, 3rd, 4th hand-down, maybe even dead person.” We didn’t find a dead person, but we did find some overalls, “American style” for Maverick Midget King. Rusty Rogue Rafael expressed concerns about him buying and, subsequently, wearing overalls. “Oh, Cheesycake, you’re crazy, they’re 100% perfect.”

I spent the last day/night in Paris, solo, because Rusty Rogue Rafael had returned home and Maverik Midget King had to work, “I’m very busy, like Obama.” Although my hotel was near the airport, I decided to take the train into Paris and spend the day there – I loved it. I walked everywhere and took pictures of everything. I even took a few of me. As I was finishing my photo shoot in front of the Eiffel Tower, I noticed Tinkle Tower. This man sells Eiffel Towers that are of bling quality, however, he also pees in the shrubs, I got a picture mid photo shoot. So, if you buy a bling Tower in Paris, be warned: Tinkle Tower. Just before heading back to the hotel, I opted for a Parisian hot dog. If you are ever in Paris and want to attract men, grab a hot dog and eat it while sitting on a bus bench along Avenue des Champs-Elysees. Sure bet you will be approached. Not a sure bet you will be pleased by those who do the approaching.

The train back to the hotel was packed. There was a man in the corner of one of the main cars with a ‘blower’ in his mouth and an extra one in his rucksack. In his free hand, a large can of beer. There was no room to move on the train, so people were literally packed like sardines; except for Blower. Nobody wanted to be close to him. He kept blowing the device (like a loud horn) and then asking the crowd (while holding up the ‘new and/or gently used blower’), “Interested? Monsieur? No? Go fuck yourself.” This was typically followed by a deep laugh and a loud, stinky belch. Many of the people were irritated, many were entertained, and many appeared oblivious to his marketing. For me, it was a perfect ending to an incredible journey from Amsterdam to Paris. A journey, that was 100% perfect!

On Thursday I made my way to Holland to meet up with friends. As I had predicted, I almost didn’t make it here with luggage, shoes and all. I had to work a wee bit before jetting off and had been switching back and forth between flip flops and Mary Janes. As a result, I kept inadvertently leaving my Mary Janes in other people’s cars and offices.

 

The weather was bad so my flight was delayed, resulting in a very short connecting time. After rushing to the plane, I got to listen to a conversation between the man and woman (headed home to Amsterdam) seated in front of me. The man asked the woman, “Did you just change?” “Of course I did. I like to fly in silk.” Hup Holland! I could tell already I was going to love the people in Amsterdam.

 

Canal Jumper and Call Me Rafael met me at the airport and I told them I had two goals: have fun and avoid arrest. “Hmmm,” said Call Me Rafael, “I don’t know if we can get them both.”

 

Being that I’m in Amsterdam, a lot of people thought I might smoke weed, because it is legal. I find this interesting; that people would think I do things based on whether or not they are legal. Canal Jumper, Call Me Rafael and I started discussing the cost of living and Canal Jumper informed me, “The going rate of pay here is drugs and alcohol.” I guess that is how they are able to afford to fly in silk.