GrigioGirl

A while back I decided work was too stuffy for me. It may have been the fact that they keep the office at a balmy 78 degrees or it could have been the expectation that I arrive before I wake up.

Regardless of the time I arrive at work, I’m generally in a good mood. One morning a coworker asked me, “What do you take in the morning?” I looked at the clock and replied, “I take my time getting up.” This approach has been working very well for me.

Lately, the balmy temperatures have been taking a toll on everyone so I decided we should hold afternoon board (game) meetings, sponsored by Parker Brothers, Milton Bradley, the lot of them. Being familiar with Federal labor laws, I couldn’t care less if someone, a “superior” for example, walked into my office mid-board meeting – I know I’m entitled to a fifteen minute break every now and again. My coworkers, however, often get very nervous. So, I’ve decided to buy poker visors for all of us and come up with a secret password or gesture for entrance.

In the meantime, it”game on” in my office. Bet you can’t guess which game is currently on the agenda…..

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Started the day off right with a bike ride and  coffee with Fru Fru Pants. We’ve both been practicing retirement for some time and today was no exception. We toggled the streets until we stumbed upon a coffee shop with tasty pastries and then found a spot on the patio where we could eat, drink and people watch.

A few minutes into our rehearsal retirement Fru Fru Pants noticed someone in a vehicle who was intently looking our way and who she considered suspicious (neighborhood watch – a retirement must). I slyly glanced in the direction of the suspect and quickly realized it was Very Interested. Turns out, he too was practicing retirement this morning and just happened to be in my neck of the woods. We chatted for a while and then Fru Fru Pants and I departed for more street toggling and people ogling.

Fru Fru Pants, unfortunately, had to return to work and I, fortunately, did not. I spent the rest of my day dawdling around town, hanging out with various friends and family, changing my hair (looks like I’m no longer Greek – black hair is gone – may be Irish now), stooping with Skiwi, doing caraoke with MiniMe and LuLu, and pondering the concept of instrumental breaks.

It was during the last bit of activity that I decided I’ve got to figure out how to make this retirement gig a full-time job. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to make it happen, but I have a feeling it may involve a large inheritance, a small pension, superior shuffleboard skills, and master level toggling and ogling. So far, I’ve got two of the five criteria – well on my way!

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My birthday is just around the corner and Sleepless wasn’t able to celebrate with me on the actual day, so we celebrated today and did so in theme!

Last week, OregganO had suggested we do theme nights at karaoke and, per her suggestion, tonight was Cowboyoke. In true cowboy fashion, Sleepless invited our friends to meet us for dinner at a local barbecue pit, after which we planned to saunter over to our new favorite karaoke bar. Sleepless and I donned the proper attire: daisy dukes, cowboy boots, ponytails, plaid and/or flowered shirts with pearl buttons and cowboy hats. Sadly, most of our friends were not able to join in the act of eating dry rubbed ribs, pulled pork, and red beans and rice (that’s right, red beans and rice didn’t miss us) on a pine picnic table outside while swatting away flies. Late Bloomer, however, did join us.

As we were finishing our meals we noticed a golf cart and thought it might be fun to take our picture on it. We were in luck because our server was just making his way toward the cart and had the key. It was at this point that we got to experience a golf cart ride to beat all golf cart rides. We were flying all over the empty parking lots surrounding the pit and the server/driver suggested we “hold on tight.” Sleepless and I both grabbed on to the “Oh shit” handles and, in unison, shouted out a phrase we had coined a week or so ago while eating lunch at the pit, “If you hands are full and your mouth is not, scream!” And so we did. The sign we read upon entry was definitely true: “Tonight is the night your BBQ dreams come true.” I can’t remember all of the details, because I was asleep and I think I was five years old, but I’m pretty sure I once had a dream about eating bbq in cowboy boots and then doing brodies in a golf cart and I remember there was a girl there but her name wasn’t Sleepless….I think it was Famous Event, or something like that.

Just before our wild bbq pit cart ride, Sleepless had received a text from a ‘friend’ offering to be our designated driver (DD) should we need one later in the evening. A few minutes after the ride our DD sent her a text backing out of his offer. “Now we don’t have a DD,” Sleepless sadly stated. “Oh, you do,” said Late Bloomer. “He’s still a DD – now it just stands for designated dick.” He may bloom late, but Late Bloomer is one funny man.

We arrived at the karaoke bar to find BeauD patiently awaiting our arrival and to find that, as usual, outside of staff and one or two strays, we were the only patrons. It is times like these that you know you’ve lived right (even if you have taken one or two utensil sets from a proper eating establishment or snagged a serving tray from a dive bar or……). We opted for country requests all night and we got them. I had no idea Garth Brooks, Hank Williams and the Dixie Chicks are not the only country musicians. I also had no idea Late Bloomer had so many mad dance skills. Amazing what you’ll learn at cowboyoke. Within no time at all, we filled the bar with our many fabulous and talented karaoke friends, which included Tile, OregganO, and Diggler. As we were leaving, we were reminiscing on previous karaoke evenings and how much we’ve progressed since we first started this adventure. As we tallied up the memories, utensil sets, mojito glasses and what not, Diggler reminded me, “Next time, you’ve got to get that Crown Royal sign.” Yeehaw, we’re the cowboyoke outlaws!

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Met up with Sleepless and her cousin for dance class with none other than Juicy PSI as the instructor. We had quite the turnout for class – two full rows of women ready to make their own movement. The only open spot for me was front row – not my favorite place to be because of my dancing/coordination skills, or lack of. When I was a little girl, doing the step ball change to Music! Music! Music! by Teresa Brewer, my mother kindly and quickly pulled me out of dance class, “It’s for your own good – you’re not coordinated.”

Sleepless and I were following Juicy PSI’s choreography when Juicy PSI said something inaudible to Sleepless’ ears. Sleepless looked at me in confusion. “Anywhere,” I said, “She wants us to dance anywhere.” “Thanks for translating,” said Sleepless, and she was off to her favorite spot on the dance floor – the outside of it. As she made her way back to the center/group, I told her I have come to the conclusion that my mother was wrong. Dancing is not about coordination at all. We were all hanging on Juicy PSI’s every move – regardless of whether it was coordinated, choreographed or improvised – dancing is about having one person brave enough to lead. It is also about charging people at the beginning of class and making them sign a “No money back” clause at the same time (assuming, of course, I’m the instructor).

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Last year OregganO and I decided we needed some extra cash and an opportunity to promote a new business idea, so we held a yard sale and sold meals out of a wheelbarrow. Our business plan was simple: wear daisy dukes and cowboy boots and have a “draw” – in this case, it was a set of three framed religious portraits of people and places popular in our neck of the woods, OregganO referred to it as “The Trilogy”. Luckily, the draw didn’t sell right away and kept the traffic flowing until the very end of the day.

This year, we decided to attend our friends’ yard sale instead of holding our own. Several days prior to the yard sale, The Leaver coated our invitation to attend with, ”there will be hermosas, Bloody Marys and muffins.” With this type of incentive, we opted to ride our beach cruisers and head out before 8 AM.  Anyone who knows OregganO and I knows this is quite the adventure – beach cruising on one of the steepest streets in the city and actually being up and out, on bikes no less, before 8 AM on a Saturday.

As we approached their residence The Leaver was quite impressed with our mode of transportation and immediately pointed us toward the kitchen for muffins, donuts and Bloody Marys.  QuQueen was busy selling some of their wares so we took a Bloody Mary to her. Unfortunately, they only had enough vodka for three short drinks and their hermosas were missing one major ingredient: champagne.

The Leaver apologized for falling short on her offer, however, could not take the time to go to the store, “Look at me, I can’t believe how busy I am with this yard sale. I’m multi-tasking with my eyes.” That’s Not Chinese was planning to join us, so I sent her a quick text, “Any chance you have some champagne?” She quickly replied, “Hello, it is me. Of course I have champagne…” and with that we were back on track.

Once That’s Not Chinese arrived she made us hermosas in her standard way, “You guys want orange juice in yours?” and then started checking out the merchandise. Turns out QuQueen hadn’t thoroughly assessed her inventory and was selling intimates. We were laughing about this when The Leaver informed us, “Oh, you think that’s funny, you should see what we found in one of the bags – go take a look in the kitchen.” So we did and found a bottle of percocet. That would have been one major yard sale purchase. About an hour later a customer returned with papers in her hand, “We found this letter in one of the purses, thought you might want it.” Turns out The Leaver and QuQueen also have a draw/trilogy: percocet, intimates and love letters.

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Several months ago I bought a new car. Instead of trading in my “old” car I opted to try selling it on my own. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck. The fact that it sits parked in my back driveway may have something to do with it.

I posted it on several websites, stocked up on Liquid Chalk and wrote “For Sale” on as many windows as possible. Every now and again Tree would drive it around town and those seemed to be the only times I received any calls. Most of the callers had out of state area codes and most seem disappointed when I answered. Not sure what that is all about it.

Being that it had been at least three months and I hadn’t received any offers, a friend suggested I remove my “Obama ’08″ bumper sticker and see if that improved my odds. I thought about this concept for some time and, because of the demographics, finally decided to do so. I also raised the price $1,000 - even in this recession doing something as bold as removing political bumper sticker has it’s price.

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I was getting ready for work yesterday and had a very in-pants experience. Let me expound on that – my pants did not fit – major expansion. This is not too much of a surprise because just the other day I thought it would be fun to weigh myself on a scale I found at work. I don’t own a scale, so, for me, doing something like this is a lot like going to an amusement park or a roadside gas station and paying to have a person or machine tell me my weight. Unfortunately, this weighing at work experience was not as positive as I thought it would be. I grabbed a coworker who is confident with his weight and had him hop on the scale. He informed me it was spot on and I should have cleared my weight before asking him to do so. I started patting all my bits (wobbly included) and saying, “Where is this new weight?” He replied, “I can tell you where it isn’t” and then tapped his “brain.” I replied, “Must be the pregnancy,” and immediately returned to my chair for more expanding.

Later in the day I received a request for an on-camera interview. I asked the reporter, “Could you do a Barbra Streisand for me and only film my good side? I noticed a little extra junk in my trunk this morning and I don’t really think anyone wants to see it. I know I didn’t.” He agreed, but(t) towards the end of the interview the camera man filmed my end. Great.

No need to fret, however, because OregganO and I had plans to run as soon as I finished work. I arrived home to find OregganO waiting for me, donned in workout gear, on my stoop. No getting out of this exercise. We ran/walked almost a mile before running into my neighbor and his coworker. They were walking his dog, wine in hand. I commented, “Well, this is weird. Me working out and you drinking. Seems a bit reversed.” He suggested I finish my run and join them for drinks. Luckily, OregganO was there to keep me on task, “Had I not been there you would have quit running right then,” she later told me. She’s right. It’s not about the drink. It’s about the run. I reminded her, “Running is bad for your knees.” “Funny,” she said. “Drinking is bad for your living and that hasn’t stopped you.” She may be right, but you can’t see my liver. My knees, however……

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Spent the other night in the company of many fabulous women. We had decided it was time for a girls night out and the best place to commence was at one of our favorite local sushi restaurants. I sent a text to The Leaver inviting her and QuQueen. She replied, “What is this all about?” I replied, “It’s all about spending time with the people who make you laugh, oh, and the hokey pokey.”

Sleepless and I were the first to arrive and were quickly joined by The Leaver and QuQueen. Within minutes the entire group of nine was there and we started placing orders and taking pictures. One of the other girls had ordered sake and offered to share with The Leaver until the food arrived. The Leaver graciously accepted the offer and, within minutes, reported, “Wow! Is it hot in here or is it just me?” We told her it was probably the sake – which she didn’t realize was alcohol (she doesn’t drink very often) – and she was shocked. I asked why she drank it and she replied, “She didn’t have anyone to drink it with her, I didn’t want her to drink alone.” Always thinking of others.

Tile was enjoying some of the edamame when she realized she had been enjoying the discarded edamame pods. Not sure how she figured it out so quickly. Could have been a combination of factors:  no soybeans coming out, no salt, she was discarding them from the same pile she had picked them up from. Who knows. Empty or full, she enjoyed them.

We decided to take pictures and The Leaver opted to turn her back to the camera, “I don’t need my picture out there, I’m already all over the web, but don’t Google me, just let me have my privacy.” So much like MyFace. We all razzed her a bit and, in Leaver fashion, she threatened to leave and then stayed the entire night.

Upon arriving at the karaoke bar we were pleased to find very few patrons because those odds increase our mic time. Scot-Tea and BeauD joined us for a songs, as did OregganO. Not surprisingly, OregganO and I were the last to leave. We had songs in the queue and had started doing “research” for future nights out. Inspired by one of the other patrons, we decided theme nights are in order. Next Tuesday, we’re doing cowboy night. Cowboyoke.

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Several days ago I decided to try and sell my car. This is not really a recent decision, it is has been on the market for a while. Unfortunately, the only time I get calls on the car is when Tree drives it.  When people call the number posted on the car it is my belief that were expecting a man, Tree, to answer the phone and I can hear the anticipation drop like a missile. It is clear my ride is not what they are truly interested in experiencing. As a result, I decided to mix things up a bit and scraped my Obama sticker off the rear window and raised the price $1,000. So far no bites, but I’m hopeful – like an Obama condom.

For marketing purposes, I drove my car to the West side yesterday and left it in a “high-traffic” parking lot (in hopes of generating sales) while I headed to visit Q with MyFace. After our meal, Q offered to have me hold her wee one. Within about fifteen minutes of holding her I realized she had peed on me. “Looks like she peed on me,” I said. “Are you sure?” said Q. “Well, I know I didn’t just pee on myself, so, yes.” This incident reminded me of the other day when I was scraping off my Obama sticker and my neighbor, let’s call him Billy, came over and starting making small talk with me. He is an interesting character, probably in his 50s, who is very impressed with himself, regardless of how uncouth he may be. I chatted with him for a bit, but needed to complete the business at hand, so I wasn’t too focused on him; until Billy backed up a bit and I noticed he had a large piss mark on the front of his shorts. How does one not notice this? Especially the owner. Everyone knows the rule, you smelt it, you dealt it. You pissed your pants, you pissed your pants. Too bad he’s not as cool as the real Billy (Madison, that is). If he was, he would have looked down and quipped, “Of course I peed my pants, everyone my age pees their pants. It’s the coolest.”

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This weekend was full of gayness -all kinds. In Amsterdam, my friends were celebrating Fruitcake Gay Pride at COC and here, in my little city, we were celebrating Gay Day at a local amusement park. Pre-park we decided to grab brunch with Tree, Screamer and some of their friends. Upon arriving two things happened: 1) the hostess asked Sleepless and I if we just ran a marathon because we were “dressed the same,” 2) Tree saw us and immediately said, “You are the gayest thing I’ve seen all day!” Always good to know I’ve dressed for the occasion. While eating, Tree apologized for arriving late, “Sorry I was late, I was listening to Stevie Nicks, Foreigner and Denise Williams.” Fair enough. One can’t get upset with another when they’ve got good taste in music. As we finished brunch the server was making her way around the table to find out who was sharing a check and who was splitting. I wasn’t paying attention and responded, “Split.” Sleepless gave me a surprised look, because we usually share the check equally. The server was walking away so I shouted her way, “We’re together.” Outed at the pub on Gay Day.

Sleepless and I rode with Tree and Screamer to the park. “I’m so excited,” said Screamer, “I just love amusement parks. I’m just so excited – I could scream!” As soon as we arrived we were mapping out our ride plan. Tree announced he wanted to go to the bathroom and on the new roller coaster. Sleepless replied, “Well, you’re going to have to make a choice because they are both rides….in a way.” Definitely going to have to pay more attention to Sleepless next time she is in the making room room. We rode a few of the rides, heeding Screamer’s advice, “Just close your eyes, put your hands in the air, and scream.” This advice reminded Sleepless and I of a few days ago when we were listening to a band play while at lunch. My hands were full (ribs and the like) and the band had just finished a song so, instead of clapping, I screamed. Sleepless liked this approach however asked why I didn’t just clap. I replied, “When your hands are full and your mouth is not, scream.”

Speaking of a handful, Oh Heyyyyy! arrived within an hour or so of us being there to join in the festivities. Oh Heyyyyy! was wearing the hell out of some very short corduroy shorts and was worried it might result in an ‘appearance’. Sleepless and Screamer were both good to let Oh Heyyyyy! know of any possible cameos. Throughout the day Oh Heyyyyy! received several phone calls and the majority of the calls went something like this, “Oh Heyyyyy! Yeah, I’m at an amusement park. Mmmm hmmm. Gay day. Yes, yes, you know it. Oh, yes, I need a drink. Some Grey Goose for sure. Uh huh. OK honey, you know I’ll see you soon. Bye.” Oh Heyyyyy! was definitely fun to have around – for us and everyone in close, or not so close, proximity.

As we were waiting in one of the longer lines Sleepless and I were singing various songs at various pitches and keys. Tree looked horrified, Screamer was looking on at the ride and Oh Heyyyyy! had pity on us, “Oh that is very nice. You are both gay and talented.” Sleepless laughed and whispered in my ear, “Both not true.” Oh Heyyyyy! was kind again, “No, really, you’re gay, like happy, and talented.” Ah, so sweet. I wish every day was Gay Day, everywhere!

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