Month: December 2011

Many things are spiked during the holidays: domestic abuse rates, questions about religion, punch/beverages, and time with family and old friends. When given the option, I select the spiked beverages and old friends. By old friends, I mean old in age and time. I’m not ashamed to say my friends and I are old. As I once told Q, “I’d rather be old than mature.”

 

Thus, to stay in sync with the holiday trends, On My Terms, Bruiser, La La Lovely and I all gathered for spiked beverages and lunch. So Hip was supposed to join us, however, she forgot – age does that to you. After four hours of spiking the interest of the patrons around us, with our loud laughter and carefree nature, we felt it would be best to continue the libations at my house.

 

Prior to making it home, BamRight?!?! called and invited us to join him for drinks in Bruiser’s neck of the woods. It’s been a while since we’ve imbibed with him, so we accepted the offer. BamRight?!?! has a bit of a fascination with swinging and has a routine of having the bartender point out the swingers in the bar. “You know I put a couple of white rocks in my front yard,” he advised me. “Good. Now you just need to start wearing white sneakers. Something solid like New Balance or Asics,” I advised him. “Do swingers wear New Balance?” Bruiser asked. “It seems to be a common accessory,” I replied. “I used to have some of those,” Bruiser told me.

 

Around this time, BamRight?!?!’s friend had joined us and was discussing napkin placement, which lead to a discussion about bandanas and the hanky code. “How do you know all of this?” BamRight?!?! asked. “Research,” I replied. His friend then stole a napkin from another patron and put it in his pocket. “Best be careful. If you’re not into ‘hanky panky’ you might want to take that out of your pocket,” I advised him. He quickly returned the napkin to the male patron and claimed he had no idea about the hanky code. Right. Just like he had no idea he is gay.

 

Nine hours after we began our imbibing, Bruiser and I decided to call it a night. “We’re going to my house to watch scary movies and cuddle up under a blanket,” Bruiser told the guys. “Can I join you?” BamRight?!?! asked. “No,” Bruiser and I both told him.”But we’re old friends and that’s what old friends do,” he tried to convince us. “Yes, we are old friends and none of us were born yesterday,” I told him and added, “Besides, we’re not wearing white sneakers.” As we got in the car we noticed the night was the opposite of us – still very young. Yep, we really are old…friends.

Per MiniMe’s request, Opreggano and I brought back Wednesday Night Hair Night. This was a weekly event, for at least at year, that was postponed, for at least a year, due to the need for a stylist. Luckily, during the past year, we have become acquainted with a lot of great stylists who were open to the idea of hairspray in their food and wine.

 

Thus, MiniMe, Opreggano, Alice and I got together for a little primping. Our stylist of the evening was Oh Wow. As Oh Wow wowed us with her efficiency, we wowed her with our drinking abilities. Alice and Opreggano were discussing previous evenings involving imbibing while I made the corn chowder – I’ve given up on clam chowder because I always forget the clams. Midst listening, Oh Wow was taking pictures of my glass recycling.  “Did you hear what I told her?” Alice asked me in reference to a comment she had made to Oh Wow. “No. What?” I asked. “I told her she wasn’t as good of a drinker as us,” Alice told me. “Hmmm,” I replied while sipping my glass of grigio, wondering if being ‘as good of a drinker’ was really a good thing, and debating whether or not to add some of my wine to the chowder – in place of the clam juice, of course.

 

I had contemplated going platinum – like my albums and credit cards, but due to time restraints I only ended up getting a cut – like my pay. Opreggano, however, had previously requested both a cut and color, so Oh Wow sat her in the chair, put the cape on her and asked, “What color are we doing?” “I was thinking 4N or…” Opreggano began to respond. “I only brought 4N,” Oh Wow replied. “I guess I’ll have 4N then,” Opreggano said. And this is how it goes on Wednesday Night Hair Night.

 

After Opreggano rinsed her hair, she sat in the chair for a cut. Oh Wow assessed the color and said, “Oh, wow. It worked.” “Always reassuring to hear that from your stylist,” I replied. Alice, who had brought a picture of a cut she had been desiring, ran her fingers through her hair and exclaimed, “My hair is really short!” Yes, both Alice and Opreggano got exactly what they had requested and both got shocking responses (their own and others) to their new do.

 

On a previous gathering, Alice had left her one of her favorite movies, My Fair Lady, at my house and I thought it might be nice to watch it while we hairdid, wined and dined. Unfortunately, Alice has not yet retained the concept that my front room is in a different time zone and, as a result, headed home after only being at Wednesday Night Hair Night for a couple of hours – no time for the movie. When she arrived home, she sent a text, “OK, your clocks messed me up.” I’m pretty sure it was the wine, not the time, that messed her up and caused us all to question the ‘as good of a drinker’ declaration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been burning vacation time the last few weeks and have found that doing nothing is exhausting. Day after day, night after night, I have, for the majority of the time, done absolutely nothing.

 

Fortunately, I started my time off right, with a large selection of DVDs and CDs from the library. Thus, in the hours I am not sleeping, I spend a lot of my time watching old movies and documentaries or listening to ‘new’ musicians. ‘New’ for me is anything after 2005/2006. That said, however, I did watch a few ‘new’ films from the 1960s/1970s.

 

S-Unit also decided to take some time off of work, so we were discussing how we have been spending our time. “I have found that doing nothing is exhausting,” I told her. “Tell me about it,” she said and added, “My knees are killing me from sitting on the couch and watching TV for five hours. Well, I’ve got to go, I need to finish this show.”

 

Before going to bed, I decided to watch a couple more movies. Being that it has been a while since I’ve worked, I chose Working Girl and Office Space. Both movies focus on people being fed up with work conditions and taking ‘action.’ Tess (Melanie Griffith) walked out on one of her jobs and then received advice from her personnel director, “Tess, Tess, Tess, Tess. You don’t get ahead in this world by calling your boss a pimp.” Turns out that wasn’t true. Peter (Ron Livingston) also walks out on one of his jobs, but returns temporarily and is approached by his coworker, Michael Bolton, who asks what he did while out of the office. Peter replied, “I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing and it was everything that I thought it could be.” I’m right there with you Peter.

 

 

 

Lately, I cannot get enough of Grey Gardens. In fact, I’m a bit disappointed in myself for not knowing about this documentary and, years later, the movie about Big and Little Edie Beale.

 

The documentary has become a cult classic – especially for those in the fashion industry. Little Edie is world known for her “best costume for the day” quote, however, one should not just settle for that little bit of eccentric wisdom. Rather, one should watch both Grey Gardens and The Beales of Grey Gardens for what they will find is hours of incredible footage, wit and wisdom.

 

After watching both documentaries (twice), I decided to have MiniMe watch them with me over the holidays. I’ve had her watch shows like these with me before, in an attempt to provide a tangential learning experience, per say. Other films I’ve had her watch include Mommie Dearest, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and Rocky Horror Picture Show. In addition to being cult classics, these films/documentaries provide great life lessons.

 

For example, in Mommie Dearest, one learns the importance of not using wire hangers and tweezing one’s eyebrows. In Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, one learns age is not always kind, nor is jealousy. In Rocky Horror Picture Show, one learns the value of AAA and wearing clean underwear.

 

In Grey Gardens, one learns “There are some nice people in the world, you know, I just don’t happen to be related to any of them;” not wearing clothes for two years may cause weight gain; “You get very independent when you live alone. You get to be a real individual;” and calling out “Mother, darling…” is totally different from referring to your mother as ‘Mommie Dearest.’

I love to learn. For the most part, I prefer and continue to learn via play – which is believed to be the first (and, in my opinion, most entertaining) form of learning. I also, however, have learned a lot informally, experientially and tangentially. I guess one might say I am an informal, tangential, experienced player.

 

On Christmas Eve I learned (or was reminded), from experience, that dressing appropriately (not to be confused with ‘dressing up’) for events is extremely important. That said, however, I was dressed appropriately for iHOP. Nonetheless, I made sure I was dressed appropriately for a celebration of Christmas and Black Jesus’ birth – if you are not aware of who Black Jesus is, he is none other than Dr. BJ.

 

A month or two ago I was at a secondhand store and stumbled upon a gift that I know will keep giving for years to come – a handmade, off-the-shoulder, Civil War Southern Belle style, Christmas plaid taffeta dress. I thought for sure it would cost as much as, if not more than, the secondhand Christmas sweaters ($10 each) I was buying and was shocked to see it was only $3. For this price, I didn’t even bother trying it on. If I couldn’t wear it, I would find someone who could or sell it on ebay. I learned, tangentially, that dresses like this are selling on ebay for anywhere from $68 to $149.

 

As one might be able to guess, all of the guests (MiniMe, That’s Not Chinese, Skiwi, DDDG and Dr. BJ) were quite taken by the dress. “I swear I have napkins made of that material,” That’s Not Chinese told me. “I have a table runner,” Dr. BJ advised her. “I made MiniMe a dress exactly like this years ago,” I advised. “Yes, she did,” MiniMe concurred. “You look like,” DDDG started to say and then asked Skiwi, “Who is the lady with all of those little boys?” “Snow White?” Skiwi replied. “Yes, Sněhurka,” DDDG said.

 

“Sněhurka? Hmmm. By the way, are you familiar with tutka?” I asked her. “No, no idea,” she replied. I then told them the story of the tutka and my experience on Christmas Eve. I shared with them the fact that the homeowners (just because you spend Christmas Eve with someone, in the comforts of their home, does not mean you should know them or their names) adopted a child from China and, when she first arrived in America, she had abdominal distention due to malnourishment (something I learned about on cable). “Like my stomach,” That’s Not Chinese said while rubbing her belly. “That’s not Chinese or malnourishment,” I replied.

 

Somehow, the conversation turned to a book that Skiwi recently checked out from the library, “‘How to Make Love Like a Porn Star: A Cautionary Tale,’ by Jenna Jameson. I read it in two days. 500 pages.” “It’s true. He skims a little bit,” DDDG advised. “There were pictures in the page count,” he advised. “Who is Jenna Jameson?” Dr. BJ asked. As Skiwi and I were trying to enlighten Dr. BJ, That’s Not Chinese opened her television stand, pulled out a DVD, and handed it to Dr. BJ. “That’s Jenna,” she said. Sure enough, that was Jenna. Dr. BJ quickly learned, tanJennatially, about the queen of  porn.

 

Once we finished our dinner, dessert and wine, we all headed home and, like Sněhurka after she bit into the apple poisoned by the queen (of fairy tales – not porn), fell into a deep stupor.

Christmas Eve day, also known as this afternoon, was spent with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man. We had talked about going out for drinks, but then I decided I wanted to try a few new cocktail recipes, so we met at my house instead.

 

They arrived to find me doing what most domestic goddesses do on afternoons such as this – don an apron and asses one’s alcohol inventory while enjoying an ivory mocha. “Welcome, welcome,” I told them as they made their way through the front door. “I was just about to make Glögg.” “What is Glögg?” Sleepless asked. “It’s a warm, traditional Scandinavian Christmas drink,” I advised her. Funny how a recipe book and an apron make one feel smart in the kitchen – location, location, location. “Does it have alcohol in it?” she asked while glancing at the wide array of bottles on the counter. “Yes it does – three different spirits to be exact.” “Sounds great!” she replied. To make the day even more special, we opted to use souvenir glasses from bars and restaurants (that clearly don’t have security cameras) we have frequented.

 

As we enjoyed the Angel’s Kick (or was it Angel’s Kiss?) and the Glögg, we opened our presents to each other. Little Sleep helped with the shopping and selected a shirt for me that read, “No boyfriend. No problem.” In the center was the universal symbol of a man with the universal ‘prohibition’ circle surrounding it. “This is perfect. I plan to wear it to dinner with my parents tonight.” They then left (1970s thermos – my special gift to Ice Cream Man – in hand and full of adult beverages) to attend Ice Cream Man’s family party.

 

I got the call from my parents that we were going to iHOP with my sister and her kids. “I figure the kids can eat pancakes,” my mom told me. “iHOP? What happened to the Greek burger joint?” I asked. For years my family had Christmas Eve dinner at a local fast food Greek restaurant. Not being wise to the Greek Orthodox beliefs, I just assumed the Greeks didn’t celebrate Christmas and I was extremely appreciative of that because their fries are excellent. “The menu at iHOP has changed,” my mom advised me and continued, “They’ve got quite a few really good items now.” “Hmm, maybe. I really only eat there when I’m hungover and it tastes good then, so, let’s do it,” I told her.

 

Fortunately, my sister’s neighbors were having an open house and didn’t have the turn out they had expected. They’re from Wisconsin and are used to big, friendly, semi-formal, neighbor and family gatherings – their neighborhood and this state aren’t use to such splendor. They graciously extended an invitation to us (the french toast combo will have to wait) and welcomed us with well-dressed open arms. They were donning dress shirts and pants, ties, and holiday dresses. Not us. Twas the night before Christmas and my Pa was in Tevas (with tube socks, of course) and I was in my no beau no prob shirt. Nothing like new friends to keep life classy.

 

Like most parties with adults and children, the kids played downstairs while the adults drank and chatted upstairs. My ma and I noticed a bowl of nuts and were reminiscing about my grandpa. He loved to crack nuts and always had a big bowl of them next to him while he watched television. As we reminisced, one of the other guests, who was from China, grabbed the nutcracker and said, “I always want to know what it feel like to crack a nut.” Then she giggled, cracked the nut, popped it in her mouth, and said, “It feel and taste good.” More giggles. “I like her,” I told my ma.

 

As guests left, the homeowner would make a tutka (paper cone filled with candy) for each child. “Polish tradition,” he told us. Pretty soon, my sister and her kids said goodbye (to us and them), so it was just the homeowners, my parents and I, and the nutcracker and her family. As usual, this type of situation is not too unusual for me. I continued to enjoy the Crazy Christmas Punch with them while my parents, who are non-drinkers, enjoyed other beverages. After a bit, we also decided to head out. While making our way to the door, the homeowner yelled out, “Wait, let me make you a tutka.” Like the kids, I got a tutka – must have been the shirt. New traditions, new knowledge and new people in our lives who, no doubt, think we’re nuts.

It’s cold outside and, at times, pretty cold inside the furniture store. Thus, as I got dressed for work today, I decided to don two sweaters – a turtleneck layered with a wool, cardigan-type, multi-colored sweater. Within minutes of walking in, I received a compliment. “Nice sweater,” said one of the salesmen. “Thanks,” I replied.

 

As I walked through the store I noticed several other employees in sweaters. This didn’t surprise me because, as stated earlier, the store gets cold. After being there for a few hours I saw a really horrible sweater, and then another. In fact, the majority of the sweaters were rather ugly. “Wow,” I thought to myself. “Some of these guys have incredibly bad taste.”

 

Seeing these reminded me of the story Q shared about being at her husband’s work party and noticing someone in a tacky sweater. “What a great tacky Christmas sweater. I have to tell him,” she told her husband. He replied, “No, don’t do that. I don’t think that is a joke. He wears sweaters like that all of the time.”

 

About this time someone else complimented me on my sweater and another person said, “They never tell me when we are doing special days. I had no idea today was ugly sweater day.” “Serious? I wish I had known. I have a ton of tacky sweaters at home,” I told them. I then noticed them looking at my cardigan sweater. “Hey! This is a nice sweater,” I informed them and walked away.

 

 

 

Standard Time invited Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and Little Sleep to dinner. Due to the fact that this was discussed over the lunch that almost didn’t take off (damn you Words with Friends!), I was also invited.

 

Tomatillo had returned my bag of Christmas sweaters, so I thought it might be best if we dressed up for the dinner. “I don’t know if it is a dress-up kind of event, but I can’t not dress-up,” I told Dr. BJ. “You definitely need to dress-up,” he advised me. As I was pulling my red and white striped over-the-knee socks up and over my knees and leggings, I asked (rhetorically, of course), “Are these too much?” To top off the outfit, I donned my mistletoe headband – an early Christmas gift from Sleepless. “This dinner party may get real awkward, real fast,” I told Dr. BJ.

 

Standard Time lives in a galaxy way far away from our downtown abodes, which may explain why staying out in the city after nine is late for her. After passing through the weigh station, customs, border patrol, several time zones, and going over the river and through the woods, we made it to her house. We were welcomed by a crackling fire, elegant Christmas decorations, dinner on the stove, and wine in our glasses. “It’s a good thing we dressed up,” I whispered to Sleepless who had also donned one of the Christmas sweaters. Ice Cream Man opted against donning a sweater. My guess is he thought it would be bad for business. His loss, our gain (literally – those thick knit sweaters really add weight and inches to one’s frame). With such great props, Sleepless and I immediately started posing for pictures.

 

As we were sitting around the dining table, Ice Cream Man was entertaining the kids with stories and games, and Sleepless decided to cop a feel of my sweater. “Wow, that’s soft. Is that Chanel?” she asked. “Chanel,” I sang back to the tune of Laverne and Shirley’s theme song. She immediately joined in, “Schlemazel.” A major mumbling of the third and fourth words and then everyone else joined in, “We’re gonna do it!” This reminded me of the time Tomatillo told me, “You’ve got the life. Always going out and drinking drinks I can’t pronounce.” ‘Wine’ is easy to pronounce, ‘Hasenpfeffer Incorporated,’ not so easy.

 

Standard Time, who was now wearing the lovely sequined and saucy Christmas apron we gave her, was moved by our singing thus, moved right next to us at the table. A few minutes after doing so, her son crept up behind Ice Cream Man with a large inflatable bat. “Be careful. We’ve got drinks,” Standard Time advised him. She then turned to Sleepless and I, tightly gripping her wine glass, and said, “Priorities. I don’t care if he hits Ice Cream Man, but I don’t want our drinks spilled.”

 

Time passed quickly – as it does when you’re crossing time zones – so we decided to say goodbye, but not before singing a few Christmas songs around the grand piano. Turns out we sing carols about as well as we sing theme songs, “Dashing through the snow…..laughing all the way….mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble.” Knowing all the words is not important. What is important, however,  is that we were dressed for the occasion in what Little Edie would  hopefully consider ‘the best costume for the day.’

 

 

 

It seems retirement has been a common theme as of late. Although I am nowhere near retirement, I regularly practice retirement. I do this by waking up without an alarm (translation: sleeping in), traveling, bird watching, occasionally greeting shoppers at my part-time job (two birds, one stone), yelling ‘slow down’ to cars while sitting on the stoop, gossiping, enjoying morning coffee with friends, owning a BINGO set, working on puzzles, and reading obituaries.

 

Recently, while at a holiday party, I heard a story about a prostitute who had to momentarily step out of retirement. As the seven dwarfs once sang, “I ho, I ho, it’s off to work I go.” Luckily, a mortician was in the market for fellatio and contributed to her temporary time back in the working world. This, unfortunately, resulted in a staff infection – not to be confused with a ‘simple staph infection’ or any work related injuries – and her inability to work; giving new meaning to the term ‘laid off’.

 

While enjoying morning coffee with Opreggano, I began to share this story with her. “No way, I heard this story at Thanksgiving,” she interrupted. “Seriously? Ho-liday stories, like other related things, spread so quickly,” I replied and asked, “So how did the story end in the version you heard?” “She had maggots in her mouth,” Opreggano replied. Sure enough, same story.

 

Like so many other holiday stories, I have a feeling this is one that will be shared for generations to come…or not, if you know what I mean. The moral to the story is easy (like my aunt): re-gifting is not always a good idea.

 

Ho! Ho! Ho! Happy Ho-lidays!

Prior to attending Fine Girl’s retirement party I met up with Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and Standard Time for a little lunch. Ice Cream Man was completely consumed with his phone. “What do you have going on over there?” Standard Time asked. “Are you playing Words with Friends?” Sleepless asked. “This lunch will not take off if you keep playing that game,” I advised him. He looked up from his phone and said, “Mr. Baldwin is an American Treasure.”

 

Like Alec, Fine Girl is an American Treasure. Unlike the Save America’s Treasures program, which lost it’s funding in 2010 and will most likely not be re-established, her ‘funding’ will be re-established the day after her last day of work and she will be saved. As we were celebrating her retirement she raised her glass and made a toast, “Thanks to the taxpayers for paying me for the last 33 years and who will continue to pay me in retirement.” I can definitely raise my glass to this American Treasure.

 

As we reminisced about her work, one of the girls shared a story about a case involving a horse, “Beastiality was really hot in the ’80s.” “Yes, it was,” Fine Girl concurred. “Was it?” I asked. I didn’t know Fine Girl in the ’80s and I don’t remember beastiality being really popular. I do remember the movie Working Girl. A romantic comedy about a girl (Melanie Griffith) who gets a chance to be her boss for a little while. Other stars in the show who were featured and mentioned by name in the trailer: Sigourney Weaver, Harrison Ford and Geena Davis. The star who wasn’t mentioned or featured? None other than the American Treasure Alec Baldwin.