Month: February 2011

Relationship conversations are bound to come up on an all girls trip. While at dinner, in between the gaformon assessment, MyFace was telling us about how she and Handsome Cowboy met. Sleepless asked MyFace how old she was when they met and MyFace replied, “42.” “Oh my God,” said That’s Not Chinese while closing her eyes, placing her hand on her chest, and taking a deep breath, “I have hope.”

Later in the evening, when the others had fallen asleep, Sleepless and I were in the bed chatting it up like two girls at a slumber party – outside of pillow fights, toilet papering and ghost stories, it really was a slumber party. Neither of us sleep much, so we chatted and giggled for an hour or so before finally getting tired enough to say goodnight. The hotel room had a ceiling light that never turned off, just dimmed like a night light, so we could see each other’s faces. “Do you remember when you were in the early stages of a relationship and just staring at your partner’s face while they were sleeping because you still thought they were beautiful?” I asked Sleepless. “No,” she replied. “Hmmm,” I said. “I always did it and was always afraid they might wake up and catch me and, maybe, just maybe, be a little bit freaked out.” “I think it’s cute,” Sleepless sweetly replied.

We finally fell asleep and the next morning I thought I could hear movement in the room. Sure enough, MyFace was up and about. I rolled over hoping to be able to “be cute” with Sleepless, only to find she was one step ahead of me. Sleepless was just laying there staring and smiling. “Oh man,” I told her, “You beat me to it!” She laughed and said, “I’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up. My right ear even fell asleep.” “Sorry about that, I’m glad you still think I’m beautiful,” and then I tilted my head to the side (this is my version of the ‘wink’) and added, “You’re a good friend to pretend to want to watch me sleep.”

As we were headed home, my good friends were there for me again when I would switch the heat over to air conditioning while they were bundled up in blankets, their coats, my coat, scarves and anything else they could find to stay warm. “Sorry about that ladies,” I apologized and added, “There is hope. In a few minutes this hot flash will subside and I’ll turn off the air.” Then, as though it was scripted, Wilson Phillips started playing on the stereo, ‘Don’t you know things can change. Things’ll go your way. If you hold on for one more day…..’ So many opportunities for hope and change – love, sleepwatching, climate – the list is endless.

Last year, MyFace and I took an impromptu road trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. It was at this time, that we decided to make it an annual activity. So, with no reservations other than a hotel room, we loaded up my car, and picked up That’s Not Chinese, Sleepless and Lola.

Being that the National Weather Service had issued blizzard warnings and the like, MyFace felt my car (a ‘sport utility vehicle’) would be the best to take. As we were one hundred miles or more into the journey she said, “I’m so glad we are in a four-wheel-drive vehicle.” “Oh, this isn’t four-wheel-drive,” I told her. “Front wheel with ECT.” “What?!?!” she asked with great surprise. “Really? Oh great. What is ECT?” “We should be fine, maybe,” I replied. “And I have no idea what ECT is – maybe extra control traction – all I know is I push the button sometimes and it makes me feel better about the road conditions.”

As we continued on our way we turned the road trip into a safari of sorts. Pointing out the wildlife as though we were trained biologists. “Oh look,” said Sleepless as we were driving by the river, “There’s a duck, no a goose. No. What is that?” “It’s a pheasant,” MyFace advised. A few miles later we were near a rest area and saw a large furry animal run across the road. “Look, look,” I said while pointing at the animal. “It’s a fox.” “Are you sure?” asked Sleepless. “No, I’m not sure. I think it is actually a wolf.” “It is a dog,” advised That’s Not Chinese. Should we need extra cash to offset the cost of our travels, we fully plan to be wildlife guides.

As we got closer to our destination we began discussing the plans for the evening. They were simple: check into the hotel, grab a drink and appetizer, shop, go to dinner, and go to the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar. MyFace was sharing the bar stories from last year when Lola piped up. “We shouldn’t have any problem attracting men. I’ve got radar for the ’emotionally available’.” “I’ve got unemployed covered,” said Sleepless. “If they smoke dope they’re drawn to me,” added That’s Not Chinese. “Infidelity is my specialty,” I said and then clarified, “I mean, I can find the unfaithful, no problem!” “Wow,” said MyFace, “I’m not sure what to say, except, I’m married.”

Once we arrived at the restaurant Lola spotted a table of men who were of interest to her. “I’m going to sit over here so I can see them,” she said while positioning her chair in their direction. “Those men are gay,” said That’s Not Chinese. “No way, they are not gay,” said Lola with great defiance. “They are metro.” “Not metro, gay,” That’s Not Chinese affirmed. “Maybe they’re foreign or mormon,” I added. “Gay, foreign or mormon. Or gaformon – a gay, foreign mormon. Like duck, duck, goose, pheasant, but gay, gay, foreign, mormon.”

I was given the assignment to invite them to join us at the bar and, while doing so, assess their sexual preference. I walked over, made the invitation and started chatting with them. Within minutes I was enjoying a lovely beverage, courtesy of them, discussing the benefits of the library, and still unsure of their sexual orientation. The only clarification I had was that they were not foreign (unless you count Canadian as foreign). Lola had quickly joined me while the others remained at our table. The guys were trying to get the other girls to join us for a digestif, but they were deep in conversation. “Why aren’t your friends coming over here?” they asked me. MyFace and That’s Not Chinese were doing a lot of communicating with their hands and I was unable to get their attention, so I responded, “They’re deaf.” In order to prove my point I, on the sly, flipped off That’s Not Chinese. She immediately and boldly returned the gesture, however, it appeared as though she was just flipping off the gaformons. “See,” I told them.

And with that we were off to the bar for more games of duck, duck, goose, pheasant, gay, gay, foreign, mormon.

Dr. BJ treated That’s Not Chinese and I to an evening of self-inquiry with a famous author and speaker. I love to learn and I love to spend time with these two birds, so I was excited. As That’s Not Chinese and I were driving to the hotel to meet Dr. BJ, Disdain, and others, I was sharing my thoughts about motivational speaking and the like with her aunt, Spider Bite, “I’m not really into spirituality and forgiveness,” “No. No, she is not,” That’s Not Chinese concurred.

 

That’s Not Chinese, Spider Bite and I arrived at the workshop in time to complete our worksheets. The speaker was inviting people to share what they had written and, then, ‘do the work’. This is usually something one would do own their own, but it’s not very often you get to do therapy with a group of 200 and, if you’re histrionic, this is like heaven.  The first five or six were good, even interesting. We learned who upset them, what they want to have happen, and what they thought of the person who upset them. After sharing these intimate details they had to get even more intimate, and ‘do the work’, by answering a very simple question about each of these things: ‘Is it true?’ Only ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers were accepted. The idea was to learn to accept and own your role in your thoughts.

 

Near the 7th or 8th moment of truth, it ‘started’ to get a bit off and I was longing for a cameo appearance by Matt Foley. An artist stood up and expressed her anger with a local dance company for covering her artwork with a storage cart. “My picture was hanging on the wall and they rolled a storage cart right in front of it.” This ‘rolling’ behavior was very upsetting to her and she was having a hard time finding a ‘positive’. We were having a hard time deciding which SNL character she looked and acted like. “Molly Shannon for sure,” said Dr. BJ. I was leaning more towards Julia Sweeney.

 

“A lot of these people are total wingnuts,” That’s Not Chinese whispered to Spider Bite and I. “Hey, this is cheaper than a copay for them, so they’re taking advantage of it,” I advised. Toward the end. a man stood up and began to share the fact that he didn’t like when his wife was mean to him. Lucky for his wife, and all of us, she happened to be with him at the workshop. The speaker called them both on stage and asked him to tell her the ‘whats,’  – pretty much give her the ‘what for’. A true Jerry Springer moment.

 

As they made their way to the stage we all came to the conclusion that this may not end well. “Look at her,” said Spider Bite, “She is not happy about this at all. She is like a shapeshifter – soon  to turn into a spider and bite him.”

 

As we were laughing about this exchange and some of the people in the room –  yes, we’re assholes – two  women, seated two rows ahead of us, turned to look at us with disgust and one said, “You should probably go,” while making a hand gesture as if she was waving us away. “Those two ladies don’t know that Dr. BJ rolled a storage cart in front of the exit and we can’t leave.” It was true. Dr. BJ bought us the tickets and we could not leave until at least two other fat, crazy, and just released from the penitentiary, ladies finished singing. “They (the women with the hand gestures) need to do the work, see what it is they don’t like about their thoughts, and keep us out of it,” I added.

 

A few minutes later, Dr. BJ ‘rolled the cart away from the exit’ and we ran out of it. Free to be in our own minds and out of the minds of those who were out of their minds.

Spelling is so crucial. One or two wrong letters and you’ve got an entirely different situation. Same goes with comments. The Responsible One and I are in the process of collecting double entendres often used in the workplace. We’ve decided to do this because we find great pleasure in taking things in at least two different ways. Although we are aware of the fact that there is a rare variation of the double entendre, known as the triple entendre, neither of us are into three ways – as risqué as we may be, we are also very straightforward.

When The Responsible One first proposed this idea to me it took me a while to get back to her. “Sorry about the delayed response,” I told her. “I got waylaid by someone in the hall.” “No worries,” she responded, “I hope this won’t put you in a difficult position.” “No position is too difficult for me,” I replied. A little while later The Responsible One phoned to tell me about some rumors that had been spreading around the office like a STD. “You know what they say about loose lips,”she told me. “All too well,” I answered. “I just want you to know I’m not the only one who appreciates the fact that you are both open and flexible,” The Responsible One advised me.

I’ve no doubt our double entendre compilation will get off to a great start – hard not to being that The Responsible One is a cunning linguist.

Last time I spoke with Rusty Rogue Rafael was several months ago, at which time he told me a story about how he professed his love for another, to that another, only to be shot down. He appears to be over that now and was telling me how happy he is with his life. “No kids, no mortgage, good job, good friends, partying all the time.” I told him that all sounded lovely even though we didn’t share the same haves and have nots. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked. “No, no, I’m not,” I answered. “Guess it is a bit hard to meet someone when you only hang around gay men.” “There is that,” I agreed. “You really need to come back over here, meet a European and live happily ever after,” he advised. Definitely something to consider.

Later that day I was with The Responsible One and The Best Dip when a question arose and That’s Not Chinese was the only one who would know the answer. I rang her up and while she was providing the answer, The Best Dip was inquiring about her. At the same time, That’s Not Chinese begin asking about The Best Dip.

Doing as a matchmaking friend does, I queried The Best Dip. “Do you like crime shows?” “Love them!” “Do you like to travel?” “Yes, yes.” “How do you feel about cats?” “Oh geez, I knew this was coming. I don’t have one, but….” “Sorry,” I told her, “I’ve told That’s Not Chinese that she can’t trust or date a lesbian who doesn’t like pussy.” “I should have seen that one coming,” The Best Dip said. “Just because I don’t have one, doesn’t mean I don’t mind petting them if they come around.” I cut her some slack and by the end of the conversation we had visions of her and That’s Not Chinese, donned in CSI sweatshirts and scrubs, sitting on the couch watching DVRed crime shows, That’s Not Chinese sipping wine, The Best Dip drinking beer, and a cat making an occasional appearance.

I shared this visual with That’s Not Chinese who was very excited to find out there is more than one ‘new lesbian in town’ and that she may get to meet her soon, scrubs and all. The joy in her voice and text messages reminded me of Rusty Rogue Rafael’s suggestion. I plan to seriously consider this as soon as I return from coffee with Tree and FatGirl.

The other day I was talking to S-Unit about my inability to get certain things done, specifically laundry.  “It is difficult to choose to do laundry when I’ve got other options, like going out,” I told her. “I have a hard time saying no.” “Uh huh., I know. That’s how you got your reputation,” she quipped.

With ‘no’ on my mind, but not on my agenda, I prepared for Maternity-oke. The Responsible One, Drink Whisperer, Sleepless and I thought a pregnancy theme at karaoke was a swell (literally) idea. “We can drink for two all night,” said The Responsible One. After picking the perfect outfit and adjusting my rollers just so, I grabbed my slippers, stuffed a pillow in my leggings, and made my way. I was fully ‘expecting’ to have a great time!

When I arrived, I found Passed The Sniff Test, dressed in scrubs with a stethoscope, waiting for me at the bar. I sallied up next to him, sliding my bump underneath the bar. Outside of him, Giddy Up (the bartender), and KJ (karaoke master), there were only three other people in the bar. Within a few minutes, D-Dog joined us. Unfortunately, she missed the theme message and was not donning a baby bump. “I’m in my first trimester,” she said, “I may not show for several more weeks.” Smooth.

We took our places at our ‘table’ and were in the midst of selecting theme appropriate songs, “Baby I’m A Want You,” “My Humps,” “Mamma Mia,” “Baby Got Back,” “Mama Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys,” “Papa Don’t Preach,” and the like, when one of the other patrons approached me. “Don’t I know you?” I’ve never seen or met this man and responded, “Yes, we met nine months ago.” This must have been the response he was looking for because he bought “the ladies” drinks. “Don’t you think it is poor taste to buy a pregnant woman a drink?” asked Passed The Sniff Test. “Who am I to judge?” I responded while rubbing my belly and enjoying my Long Island.

We had been there for about thirty minutes when Passed The Sniff Test asked, “Where is everybody else?” “I don’t know. The only thing that should be late tonight is their periods,” I answered. Not only were they late, they completely aborted their plans to attend, citing morning sickness and headaches. Thus, I was the only pregnant one at the party. History does have a way of repeating itself. Luckily, I’m malleable.

Tree and FatGirl soon joined us and the good times were rolling. “You should write this stuff down,” Passed The Sniff Test advised. “I can’t remember,” I replied. “That’s why you should write it down.” “I know,” I said, “but I can’t remember to write it down. Memory loss is common during pregnancy.”

At one point, FatGirl and I took center stage with Passed The Sniff Test. Perhaps we were singing “Doctor, Doctor” by the Thompson Twins . Again, I can’t remember all of the details. I do remember, however, that Passed The Sniff Test tried to pick us up, one in each arm, at the same time. This didn’t go as planned and we were soon lying on the floor. “Good thing your bump is so malleable,” yelled Giddy Up from the bar. “He dropped us like we’re hot,” I yelled back. “We are hot, honey,” FatGirl added. 

Hot we were – a couple of hot messes, to be exact. We decided to head to breakfast, pregnancy cravings get me every time, and Tree was driving. After several minutes on the road, FatGirl told him he was driving like an Asian. “Whatever,” said Tree. The mother in me kicked in and I told FatGirl that was not appropriate. “He has always referred to me as Asian,” said Tree and continued. “It started a long time ago when I first met his little group. There was one black, one Mexican and one white guy. They made me an Asian.” “How did they ‘make you an Asian’?” I asked. “They said, ‘We already have white Doug, Black Shaun and Mexican FatGirl. If you want to hang out with us you have to be Asian Tree.'” See,” said FatGirl, “I’m not racist, I’m just selective.” Racist. Selective. Malleable. Pregnant. Bloated. It is interesting what we  gestate, in our minds and our uteri.

Getting dressed can be a bit of a challenge for me, for a lot of reasons. Sometimes, as I’ve mentioned in the past, it is because my dryer is far too efficient, thus shrinking things that appeared to fit yesterday. The other reason is zippers – they can be a bit of work depending on the location. Zippers on the back seam of a dress are a major challenge. One day, I tried to put on a dress with a back zip and could only zip it halfway. By the time I got it off, because I couldn’t get it up (double entendre for your reading pleasure), I felt like I had just re-enacted the ‘kicking my ass’ scene from Liar, Liar. After that incident, I did some online research for cool inventions designed to assist with situations such as these. The best and only match was Handicapped Equipment – Dressing Aids for the Disabled Can Enhance Independence. My independence is my disability and I am quickly learning that living alone requires a lot of tools. First the rabbit, now the dressing aid stick.

This morning, I got dressed and headed to a meeting which was near one of my favorite coffee haunts. After the meeting I rewarded myself with a lovely ivory mocha, topped with a chocolate covered espresso bean. I like to wait until the bean is melted and then I eat it. I did that this morning and then went about the rest of my morning. After a few stops, I took a look at myself in the mirror and found my boobs also quite liked the chocolate espresso bean – I had melted chocolate all over my chest. Class.

I went home, changed my shirt, and returned to work. As I walked into a meeting one of my coworkers complimented me on my outfit, “You look nice. Did you have a special meeting earlier this morning?” “Thanks. No,” I replied. Although I guess the chocolate on my breasts is, in a way, a special meeting. “You just look so conservative today,” she added. “I got dressed in the dark,” I quipped. I can guarantee the individuals who saw me earlier didn’t think I was the conservative type. After several more hours of relatively conservative behavior, I decided to call it a day. “I’m going home to get pregnant,” I told That’s Not Chinese. “Do it like only you can,” she advised me. And so, as any other independent person would do, I ‘got pregnant’ and headed to karaoke. I’m expecting to have a good time, with or without tools.

FatGirl decided to make his first pork roast and Sleepless and I were some of the privileged few who were invited to partake. Being that he just moved into a basement apartment, he invited his landlords to join us. The landlords live directly above FatGirl, so we were asking them how he was as a tenant. “Can you hear his music playing?” asked Sleepless. “Yes, but it’s not too loud. It’s just a thump, thump.” “What?” FatGirl asked as he was returning from the kitchen and completely misunderstood what was said. “It’s not my music that you hear? Hmmmm. It must be my porn. I sometimes watch porn on my computer but I didn’t realize it was that loud.” Once he realized he had outed himself, he decided it was time we head out.

Sleepless and I then met up with The Responsible One and Drink Whisperer for karaoke at our favorite private club for non-members. As usual, I had ‘reserved’ the entire bar. Drink Whisperer and The Responsible One were new to the bar and, as one might guess, they were proper impressed. Drink Whisperer had ‘prepped’ at home so he would be ready to sing. “Thanks for that bottle of pinot a go-go,” he told me. “It was a small bottle, but a lot of wine.”

Tile soon met up with us and we were selecting songs when Drink Whisperer chose to share some of his feelings, “I hate getting shot. I really do. I’m so sick of it.” Drink Whisperer comes from a family of hunters. “People are assholes. They’re hunting, they get mad or drunk or both and shoot each other,” he informed us. “I’m cool with the lead, but the rock salt, come on.” Being that we weren’t anywhere near hunting grounds, we figured he could put that concern to rest for the night.

We refocused his attention by recommending a duet with The Responsible One. After their duet, The Responsible One sang Alone by Heart. Mid-song, her mic stopped working. Sleepless graciously and quickly offered up her mic. The Responsible One was giving the song all she had when Drink Whisperer attempted to make it a duet. “Stop singing,” she told him with a tight grip on both mics, “you’re throwing me off.”

After hours and hours of hits, we went to a 24-hour restaurant for breakfast. Upon arriving, Drink Whisperer saw some youth in the lobby and began chatting with one of them. Within seconds he was conducting a nystagmus test on him. “You didn’t pass it,” Drink Whisperer told him and advised, “You really shouldn’t be driving. Don’t do it.” “You really shouldn’t be administering nystagmus tests on people right now,” The Responsible One advised him.

We sat down and were greeted by our pregnant server who, for whatever reason, asked Drink Whisperer, “Did you just get out of jail?” “No,” he responded, “but that’s a good question.” I’m not sure that is actually a good question if you’re serving tables. After she walked away I asked, “Is it poor taste to leave a condom as a tip?” “Not at all,” Sleepless stated. A few seconds later, Drink Whisperer held up the condom and asked, “Would it be weird to put this on right now?” “Yes, don’t do it,” The Responsible One advised him and that was our outro.

It was just a year and several days ago, that I started writing my blog. Being a ‘virgin’, I eased into it, took my time. The first entry was short and, as time went on, the entries got longer. A lot like sex.

Looking back at some of my entries (also like sex), I discovered there is far more right than wrong with the past year (this time, not so much like sex). As a result, I decided to celebrate with all of those who have made it in my…….blog.

That’s Not Chinese hosted the party and it was “sponsored” (I’m using this word very loosely) by A Mano Pinot Grigio. Knowing there would be some imbibing, That’s Not Chinese and I decided to eat a little dinner beforehand. When I arrived at her house, I found her in a cream Chinese summer traditional light silk embroidered blouse, with a tank top underneath, black pants, and striped lounge socks. “Shirt, Chinese. Tank top and pants, not Chinese. Socks, Chinese. They love wearing funky socks,” she told me.

By the time we sat down to eat, OregganO had arrived, so she joined us. That’s Not Chinese handed us our plates and plastic ‘party’ forks. “Can we not have real utensils?” I asked. “Oh fine,” she said and handed us each a fork. Without a knife, I wasn’t sure how I was going to eat my pork, however, opted to ‘spear’ it. “Are you just going to eat your pork with a fork like this?” I asked OregganO. She nodded ‘yes’, while doing the same thing. That’s Not Chinese looked up, shook her head and laughed, all the while cutting her pork with a knife. After finishing her finely cut pork, she belched. “Very Chinese to belch after a meal. Or is it Japanese?” she asked – not wanting an answer – and added, “I was born in the year of the boar, I can have pig-like qualities.”

Shortly after dinner, Skiwi and Disco Dancing Dog Groomer (DDDG) made a grand entrance. Like That’s Not Chinese, they were in ‘character’. Skiwi was donning a ski cap, goggles and his bluetooth. Pretty sure the bluetooth is vintage. It looks like a reverse headgear. DDDG was donning a lovely sequined blouse, sexy fur coat, saucy headband in her hair, a pair of scissors and stuffed dog in her hands.

As others arrived with drinks, specifically beer, Skiwi would offer to put them in the fridge, saying, “I’m used to cold climates.” Although not everyone who has been featured in the blog was able to attend, we had good attendance. Sleepless, Dr. BJ, FatGirl, Passed The Sniff Test, Patty Melt, Le Chauffeur (the blog character formerly know as Bus Driver), Disdain, D-Dog, MiniMe, Drink Whisperer, The Responsible One, and some newbies, So Damn Good, The Waiter and Casera.

Several hours into the party we pulled out the karaoke machine and the tunes were flowing! “I haven’t done this since Japan,” said Skiwi, “and I was big in Japan.” OregganO and Sleepless were determined to hit the high score again. “We hold the record at 100,” said OregganO while strutting toward center stage (aka, That’s Not Chinese’s front room). “We don’t have to top ourselves, we’re going out on a high note.” She was right about the high note. According to That’s Not Chinese, she, like the rest of us – D-Dog excluded – had “no business doing karaoke.” At one point, while The Responsible One was singing ‘Blowing in the Wind,” she looked at me and said, “You’re singing off tune.” I took that as a cue to stop singing and start dancing like a white girl. This was pleasing to FatGirl.

About this time, Drink Whisperer had found Sleepless’ butternut squash casserole. “This is delicious. Reminds me of cereal. What cereal does this remind me of? Lucky Charms!” Then, in his standard drink enhanced whisper, he shouted across the room to Passed The Sniff Test, “Hey, have you tried Sleepless’ lucky charms? They’re magically delicious!” Passed The Sniff Test coyly smiled.

After filling his belly with magically delicious goodness, Drink Whisperer was ready to sing. Once he had the mic in hand, he unleashed his inner Metallica. While dancing around the room he started rubbing on one of his nipples, somehow thinking nobody would notice. “Oh yeah, we saw it,” The Responsible One and I said in unison. “You didn’t see it,” he tried to assure us. “Yes, yes we did.” “OK, you did, and it can’t be unseen, ha!”

As is often the case, Sleepless, OregganO and I were the last to leave. That’s Not Chinese was telling us she was tired and was seconds away from sleep when Still Loving You popped up on the karaoke/tv. “Scorpions!” shouted That’s Not Chinese as she jumped off the couch, grabbed the mic and started singing. “This is the best song ever!” She told us while playing a little air guitar and throwing down some flash kicking ass dance moves.

As the last words of the song played, “This can’t be the end. I’m still loving you. I’m still loving you, baby…” We said our goodbyes and made plans to get together again. We couldn’t let this be the end, instead, we made it a beginning of another year of writeous events!

S-Unit and I were talking on the phone the other day and she shared a story with me about her mom. “You know how my mom tells me I need to lose weight?” “No. How?” I ask. “She says, ‘I’m thinking about buying you one of those nice treadmills. The kind you can fold in half and put under your bed.'” I told S-Unit those treadmills aren’t so nice and if she needed confirmation, she should read Three Ts.

A little while later, I attempted to return a call to OregganO and my phone did as it has been doing lately, it called someone I spoke with several calls ago. In this case, S-Unit. After I figured out I had dialed the wrong number, she posed a quick question before ‘getting off,’ “What are your wearing?” I told her that was rather personal. She told me I was an asshole. I told her she was a suppository. She then told me I should start a phone sex career while I’m sick and make some cash to pay for my antibiotics. I thanked her for the advice and told her we would chat soon.

Speaking of things you put places, Skiwi also phoned me the other day and, before I could say hello, he said, “Guess what I’m doing.” I didn’t have a clue and wasn’t falling for that trap again. What is in the air? First S-Unit, now Skiwi. “I’m talking to you on my bluetooth. I still can’t figure out how you can hear me, but that’s a minor detail.” “I hate when people talk on those in public places,” I told him. “I can’t wait to be in a public place,” he said and then, in a slightly quieter tone added, “Sorry, I’m on the phone.” “What?” I asked. “That’s what I’m going to say to people while talking on this in public places. I’m going to point to my ear and whisper that. Very posh. Guess what I’m doing now.” “Still no idea.” “I’m trying on my skiing helmet. Fits great. Not sure how I’m going to push the buttons, but it fits. Also fits under my bike helmet. Lovely. Alright, I’m going to head out and try some other stuff. Try calling me later and ask me what I’m doing.”

I haven’t yet done that. I’m still basking in the visuals from these past two phone calls. I may call him later, when I’m in silk.