GrigioGirl

I have a tendency to spill things. The other day, while enjoying my tea, an item in my cupboard caught my eye. I set down my mug, opened the cupboard, reached toward the item, it fell off the shelf, hit and broke a glass bowl full of nuts, then rolled over to the mug, knocked it over, and my tea went everywhere.

The next morning, since I was running late by other people’s standards and on time by mine, I didn’t have time to make tea nor did I have time to stop for coffee. I met the guys in the main lobby of the office and they advised that because we were going to be working with youth they were going to change their names to something cool, like J-Red and B-Rye. I didn’t have a name and, as previously mentioned, I didn’t have a coffee, so I decided to head to the cafeteria to get one.

I got my coffee, spruced it up a bit with one of every creamer I could find, and then put the lid on. Well, I tried, anyway. As soon as I pushed down on the lid the side of the coffee cup gave out and coffee sprayed all over my cream jacket and amazingly saucy gloves. I hadn’t even been out and about for more than five minutes and I’d already dirtied an outfit – or, more appropriately, creamed an outfit.

I grabbed a new cup, started over, and returned to the guys as though nothing happened. That worked really well, for about one minute, until they noticed my jacket. Once they realized what happened, my ‘cool’ name became, ‘Hot Mess.’

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Alice makes a mean sourdough bread. After having her bring it to my house, hot, two weeks in a row, I decided it was time for me to learn how to make it.

That’s Not Chinese and Bitchin’ Camaro wanted in on the mix, literally, so we met up at Alice’s house to bake a loaf and make starters. Even though Alice was anxious to get started, That’s Not Chinese, Bitchin’ Camaro and I wanted to relax, have some wine, snack a little, and then learn the tricks of Alice’s artisan trade. A little foreplay, per say.

This made Alice a little anxious because she was more than ready to begin the conception efforts. Thus, we forewent most of the foreplay and did what was kneaded. After providing us very detailed instruction, Alice put her bun in the oven. As it baked, our starters grew and grew.

That’s Not Chinese decided she needed to go to the bathroom and, as she started making her way there, Alice advised us the ‘WC’ on the bathroom door was pronounced, “dooba la chay.” “It’s French. Dooba la chay. That is how they say water closet in France,” she told us. “They don’t say water closet in France,” That’s Not Chinese told her. “Yes, yes they do,” Alice said with confidence. “No, they don’t,” That’s Not Chinese assured her. “I think she’s right on this one, but I’ll check with Maverik Midget King,” I said and then placed a call to France. I should have selected ’50/50′ instead of ‘Phone a Friend,’ because he didn’t answer.

Bitchin’ Camaro also has a French speaking friend, so she phoned her and left a message inquiring about WC. “Are you sure the way you’re saying it isn’t Italian?” I asked Alice. “Look, I can’t make this shit up,” she replied. “But you did,” Bitchin’ Camaro told her. “She’s right about that,” I told Alice. “If I could kick your ass right now, I would. Maybe I should my trampoline back,” she told me. “You had a trampoline?” I asked. “Yes, but trampolines aren’t for adults – they’re for kids. Black eyes and bloody noses were all I ever got out of it,” she said with great seriousness. “Maybe I should get a trampoline. Or should I get a pool?” I asked. “Get a pool and then I’ll be the tramp because I’ve got the stamp,” Bitchin’ Camaro told me.

Bitchin’ Camaro then took her starter baby, which was growing at dooba la the rate that mine and That’s Not Chinese’s babies were growing, and headed home. A few minutes after leaving, she phoned to advise us that Alice was, in fact, incorrect about the French WC. “I can’t stand to be wrong,” Alice told us and then said, “We have to do this again soon!” “If we do it, I think we need a club name,” I advised. “How about Dooba La Chay?” That’s Not Chinese suggested. “Perfect! Let’s spell it ‘W-C,” I quipped.

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Alice, I Noticed and I met up with a couple of other friends to attend a quaint concert performed by John Lee Hooker Jr.

He was full of all kinds of magic – from his stylistic fashion to his straight pimp lyrics.  Just like Jerry Maquire had Dorothy at “hello,” Hooker Jr. had Alice and I at, “I’m going to write this real slow because I know you can’t read real fast.” A little while later, he took us to second with, “I wish my mama had stayed a virgin – then I wouldn’t be in this shape that I’m in.” “Why didn’t we think of that line?” Alice asked.

“It’s a good one,” I replied and asked, “Do colorblind people get the blues?” “I don’t know. You tell me, you’re the smart one,” Alice replied. “I’m just wondering if they think they’ve got the greens,” I said. Alice looked at the band then back at me and said, “I’m gonna say even colored people get the blues.” “Not colored people. Colorblind people,” I corrected her. To her defense, it was loud in there.

Before leaving, I purchased a CD. Hooker Jr. advised me it would be $20 and added. “$1 for a picture.” I paid him $21, he took my money, and continued to visit other tables, before finally returning to me. We took the picture and a few minutes later the keyboard player returned to the venue. Being that Alice and a few others were crushing on him, I asked for his picture. He graciously agreed to take a picture with Alice and I – free of charge.

“I can’t believe that Hooker charged you a dollar,” one of my friends said. “It’s like Salt-n-Pepa always say, ‘The difference between a Hooker and a ho ain’t nothin’ but a fee,’” I replied.

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Several years ago, fifteen to be exact, I bought a bunch of party invitations. A few packages were for birthday and no particular reason parties, but the majority were for baby showers. Thankfully, someone I know finally got pregnant and I got the opportunity to use one of the packages.

With only eight invitations in the package, this limited the total number of guests. “Works for me,” Opreggano told me and added, “I don’t want a lot of people.”

Being a person who likes to be in the company of many, this was a difficult task for me. Nonetheless, I took it on and mailed out all eight of the invitations. With no additional copies for myself, and no line for RSVP, I didn’t know who would be attending and couldn’t remember what time the party would be starting.

Fortunately, Opreggano, Sleepless and That’s Not Chinese were all able to advise me of the start time. Even with this information provided, I still managed to not be showered in time for the shower.

Opreggano arrived about 30 minutes early to find me in my pajamas and listening to Mickey by Toni Basil. “I guess I should shower,” I told her. “Why? I didn’t,” she replied. “OK, I won’t. Good thing I put on makeup last night – now I don’t have to put any on today,” I said while rolling on some additional deodorant and using a scrunchie to spruce up my hair.

The other guests began to arrive, however, the guest with the most important assignment was not yet present. Nonetheless, I handed the guests their vintage crystal hospitality snack sets and advised them, “Your glasses are small, which means you’ll have to drink a lot of a little. Oh, and, the champagne is on it’s way.” Sleepless came through the door a few minutes later and MiniMe immediately asked her, “Do you have the champagne?” “No ‘hello,’ really? Just, ‘do you have the champagne?’ Yes, I have the champagne,” Sleepless replied and took the champagne out of the brown bag.

That’s Not Chinese immediately popped the cork and, unlike the RSVP, there was a line for the champagne and everyone had their little crystal ‘milk cups’ ready to go. Everyone, that is, except for Opreggano. She had her own bottle of sparkling cider, which Alice accidentally poured into her little cup of goodness. “Don’t do it, don’t drink it!” I advised her and added, “It’s sparkling cider!” Alice immediately handed me her contaminated drink and said, “Oh my God! I can’t drink this!”

It was true. Alice did what I should have done on the invitation – she drew a solid line and stood her ground. If she was going to drink a lot of a little, the only thing that she wanted to see ‘sparkling’ was the bottom of the champagne bottle once we emptied it.

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The other night while visiting That’s Not Chinese she told me, “Maybe we’re not cut out for this.” We had been talking about several things – where we live, dating, traveling, employment – so I wasn’t entirely sure to which of these she was referring. She could tell I wasn’t sure and added, “Dating. Maybe it just isn’t meant to happen for us.”

A few nights later we met up with Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and Little Sleep to try out a new restaurant where Tree is working. The restaurant is new, so Tree encouraged us to provide feedback. That’s Not Chinese had already been providing feedback, so Tree’s request really opened the door for her. A few bits of feedback later, Tree asked That’s Not Chinese for a little less feedback.

Although Ice Cream Man was pleased to have the new dining experience, his steak was overcooked, his deep-fried bleu cheese macaroni wasn’t bleu enough and he did not want to break the news to Tree. “I’m not cut out for this. I just can’t do it. Makes me feel like a complainer,” he told us. It was at this time that Tree approached the table. While That’s Not Chinese, Sleepless and I gave Tree feedback, Ice Cream Man stammered a bit and then finally let loose with great emotion, “If you’re going to have bleu cheese macaroni and cheese, or anything with bleu cheese in it, the bleu cheese should pop. Pop.”

Just prior to us leaving, the restaurant owner sat down with us. Once again, we provided feedback. Since we had already provided feedback to Tree, we provided the owner positive feedback about the ambiance, drink menu and decorations – one of which was a vintage typewriter by the water closets. The idea behind the typewriter’s placement and accessories (paper, tack pins and scissors)  is so guests will type a little note, cut it out and tack it on the wall. “I have some concerns about those scissors back by the typewriter. Major liability,” Sleepless advised. Like the scissors, Sleepless had a good point. “It doesn’t really seem like people are using the scissors for the intended purpose. Most of the posted notes have been torn, not cut,” I added. “That’s true, most notes are not cut out,” he thought aloud while considering Sleepless’ liability concerns.

Soon after that, we cut out of there. The scissors were still a liability and That’s Not Chinese and I were still single…maybe she’s right.

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A few years ago I ventured to the fourth floor of our building and, along the way, I found a pile of surplus items. In the middle of the items was a wooden box with a slat across the top and a sign that read, “SUGGESTIONS.” On top of that box was another sign that read, “SURPLUS!”

I laughed for some time about the irony of that photo opportunity. Fortunately, I have had the privilege of being reminded of this visual via a few mediums – television and continued employment.

The Office (American version) has an episode titled ‘Performance Review’ in which the office manager, Michael has concerns about his own performance review and implements a ‘Suggestion Box.’ He then holds a meeting and reads the suggestions to everyone. Three of my favorites were, “What should we do to prepare for Y2K?” – the year is 2005; “You need to do something about your coffee breath,” and; “Don’t sleep with your boss.” Three great suggestions.

My office recently decided to pull our Suggestion Box out of surplus and house it on the world wide web. Several staff were asked to participate in the implementation and, as luck would have it, I’m one of them. Being the dedicated employee I am, I brought my notebook. Unlike other meetings, where I end up practicing my cursive by writing, “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog,” over and over again, I was actually taking notes (in cursive, of course), all the while trying not to think of the Surplus item on the fourth floor and The Office episode.

One of the committee members – the one who suggested the suggestion box – was providing a history of how this all got started. Instead of just providing internal office background information, he took us back to the 1800s when, according to him (could not verify this on the world wide web) the first suggestion box of sorts was implemented. He then moved us through the 1900s, specifically 1980/1990, when he worked on a suggestion box in a previous position with the company. Fast forward to today, and he had three reasons suggestion boxes were necessary:

1. Everybody has a good idea

3. Organized means

That’s right. Three reasons to have a suggestion box, yet only two were stated. My first suggestion, “I suggest we review the two, I mean three, reasons.  Where is #2?”

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As has been mentioned previously, my primary duty at work is to smile and look pretty. As a result, I keep regular dental appointments and, whenever possible, Sleepless and I prefer to clean up our act together.

This morning, I flossed my teeth extra well and brushed with a vigor that is generally reserved for first dates. I have no idea what that means, but I like the sound of it.

Unlike my job, I arrived at the appointment on time and ready to get busy. Sleepless did the opposite and was running late. Apparently our hygienists are not just seeing us and required Sleepless to reschedule. Hopefully this won’t take a toll on our future double dental dates.

As my hygienist finished up, she asked if I’d like fluoride, adding that it is very beneficial for adults. “It is $27 and most insurance companies don’t cover it,” she added. I’ve spent more than that on a good dickey (actually, it was more than one dickey and it included shipping and handling), so, in the spirit of good business, and by good business I mean looking good, I did it.

After she completed my treatment she informed me I couldn’t consume anything hot – like soup or coffee – or crunchy for six hours. Great. In my rush to make my appointment I hadn’t had breakfast (coffee) and I had packed soup and crackers for lunch. I decided I could hold out for six hours, thanked them for their care and left.

My teeth felt a bit ‘filmy,’ so I decided to take a look at them in my visor mirror. I was quickly reminded of a term of ‘endearment’ regularly used by Maverik Midget King, “graveyard teeth.” The fluoride had deposited on my teeth as intended, however, it left a disgusting coat of slime on all of my teeth.

I met up with Sleepless to show her what she missed. “You can’t really see it,” she said, squinted her eyes a bit, and then said, “Oh, yes, you can. But just a bit. Do you have to go in the office?” That was a nice way of saying steer clear of people for the day.

Thankfully, she dared to venture in public with me, we enjoyed a quick post-dental date and then I returned to work where I, for five more hours, could not smile or eat, and still tried to look pretty.

This work related expense may have turned out to be very costly.

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My grandpa loved cracking nuts. There wasn’t a time that I visited him when he didn’t have a bowl of nuts nearby. One of his favorite pastimes was cracking nuts and watching television while sitting in his favorite chair.

It’s been years since I’ve seen him but as I sit here in my favorite chair, snacking on nuts – wishing I had a nutcracker – and watching television, I can’t help but think of him.

Not one to watch television very often, I clicked on several channels and realized I didn’t have them – just like back in the day when the rotary dial-tune TV detailed channels that only showed me static. After sadly learning I couldn’t watch shows as basic as ‘Chelsea Lately‘ and ‘Storage Wars,’ I settled for ‘Family Feud.’
I watched a few rounds and was feeling pretty good about myself until the ads came on and one of them was for speed catheters. I know enough about marketing to know these media buys were purchased specific to a certain target audience – older women with incontinence who watch game shows late at night.

Really? You couldn’t run a beer ad where all of the people are laughing while lounging on the beach enjoying their beverage without worrying about where the bathrooms might be located because they didn’t bring their catheter?

Unbelievable. Oh well. I’m comfortable with my life situation. My dickeys have been shipped by Carol Wright gifts and my Hillary Clinton Nutcracker should arrive around the same time. I’d love to share more, but I just saw the catheter ad so they most likely won’t be here for another week or so.

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Several nights ago Sleepless and I dined with Ice Cream Man at one of our favorite eateries. After much consumption, she and I promised to return today for more wetting of our pallets – news that was pleasing to our waiter’s parts (ears and stuff).

She and I arrived and were seated at the table next to the table we had eaten at during our last visit. We thought for sure this would result in us getting the same server. Not so, and this proved to be problematic for him – he was quite jealous of the other server. As we teased our new server, who had previously flashed us his muscular calves, it quickly became clear he didn’t remember us. “Sorry, I don’t recognize you in the light,” he told us.  “Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to tell us that,” Sleepless replied.

We ordered our meals and, due to the fact that it was Mardi Gras, also ordered a drink. In an attempt to make up for not remembering us, he did what other men do – brought us really strong drinks. “I put extra gin in there. I want to get you girls frisky,” he said and then walked away, with his muscular calves, blushing.

He returned a wee bit later and asked if we’d like another drink. “Yes, but I have to wait for someone to leave,” Sleepless told him. “Her sponsor is here,” I added. “I understand,” he said. Like a good enabler, I mean waiter, he brought over two drinks and hid them behind the menu.

I took a sip of the second drink and told Sleepless I wasn’t sure I could taste the gin. “I can totally smoke, taste the gin. I was looking at two things,” she told me. Uh huh. The waiter returned with a spoonful of espresso whipped cream for us to taste before deciding on a dessert. “I brought this because I want to watch,” he told us. He did and then said, “You girls need to come here every Tuesday. You are bad. I like you.”

As we were finishing our drinks, he returned to the table, quickly handed each of us a pack of sugar, aptly labeled, “SUGAR,” and said, “I think you dropped your name tags.”

I’m not sure what I’m giving up for lent, but I know I’m keeping this server!

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The furniture store, where I occasionally grace employees and customers with my presence, always seems to provide me an interesting experience. I believe this is primarily because of it’s customer base -  which consists of a lot of ‘traditional,’ older men.

While cashiering, one of the male customers approached me and said, “Hello pretty lady, they told me you’d help me pay my bill.” I’m not sure who ‘they’ were, I never am, but I put on my best customer service front and stated I would be happy to help him with the process.

As I was processing the transaction, he continued to wink, smile, do the occasional cocky head tilt, and provided commentary. When I completed the transaction, I handed him the receipt and he said, “It’s true what they said, you’re easy, but you’re not cheap.” More winks, cocky head tilts and smiles. “Yes, what they said is true. Have a nice day,” I replied while doing my best smile and look pretty…..easy.

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