Month: October 2013

The other day when ‘dressed up’ for a work interview the camera man asked, “If you dress up like this throughout the year what do you do on Halloween?” “I take the day off,” I replied. A few days after the interview several coworkers approached me and said, “I didn’t even recognize you. Seriously, it didn’t look like you at all. It had to have been the pearls.” Pearls can be so deceiving.

 

As Halloween got closer I still couldn’t decide what to be, but I had a few ideas: 1) Truth Fairy – wear wings, carry a dry erase board and write sincere insults on it when others walk by or 2) Drug Bust – tape a bunch of pills on my boobs. The day before Halloween, completely undecided, I learned about a woman in North Dakota who planned to give candy to thin trick-or-treaters and letters about obesity to fat trick-or-treaters. Hearing about this sparked my next ‘two-fold’ costume idea: A big fat dick – my plan was to knock on this woman’s door and tell her I was actually a mirror. What a twat! Kids want candy. Adults want candy. We’ll also accept tricks, but tips? No thanks;  only if we’re providing a service and her plan is a complete disservice to everyone.

 

Instead of going to North Dakota I actually ended up going to work on Halloween, sans costume. Most people at my office don’t dress up. The few who do tend to don t-shirts with stupid sayings, pajama bottoms and sports jerseys. As one coworker in a baseball jersey and jeans walked by I said, “Great costume.” He didn’t reply so I made it my mission to make this comment to everyone – especially those who weren’t in costume. I took it up a notch by adding a laugh and shaking my head. This compliment was received by all, well-received by some. After I’d had enough, I decided the best costume I could don was that of a non-essential federal employee. Already in costume and being pretty much everything but federal, I furloughed myself for the day.

 

My tip for you for next year: Be non-essential.

I returned home today to find a notice about a rash of burglaries in the area. Being that I lock my doors regularly, and lock them so tight that locksmiths cannot even get in, I figured I didn’t need to worry much. Plus,  I have my trusty cat burglar who regular steals a spot on my porch and slyly enters my house when the door is ajar.

 

As I continued to read the notice, however, I became slightly concerned. These hoodrats appear to like Hondas. Dirk was in jeopardy. Being that my neighbor across the way also has a Honda I decided to go to her house to discuss the notice.

 

As I approached, I could see the lights were on in the front of the house. As I got closer I could see her laptop bag on the chair, so I assumed she was home. I knocked on the screen door and didn’t hear the dogs or get an immediate response so I opened the unlocked screen door, knocked on the front door, and then turned the unlocked handle as she turned the corner of the front room with her dogs. “Your dogs didn’t bark,” I told her. “They don’t,” she replied. I then asked if she had read the notice. Based on the front door being unlocked and her valuables being in direct view, it was safe to assume she had not.

 

We discussed the notice and determined that since neither of us have a garage the likelihood of our cars being stolen was high. “Look at it this way, you’ll get a new car,” she said. “That’s true, but I’ll lose out on all my frequent buyer punch cards, not to mention a few library CDs and a tutu,” I replied. “The tutu should make them easier to find,” she replied. She is right about that but I would feel horrible if they failed to return my library items on time. Hopefully, they’ll Dewey the right thing.

Global warming is real. If you don’t believe it, check out the iceberg in my brain. Based on Sleepless’ iceberg/penguin theory, penguins (memories) are dropping off my iceberg like flies and I can only assume it is because the iceberg is getting smaller, which I blame on global warming.

 

After going to the rock opera disco circus event the other night, Ice Cream Man decided to return home and Sleepless and I decided to go dancing. Due to my recent injury, my doctor advised against running and Zumba, but I didn’t recall her saying anything about dancing and, as far as I was concerned, my orthopedic boot was made for dancing. Alas, Sleepless and I danced for hours then grabbed our belongings and began our trek home. We arrived at her place to find Ice Cream Man watching TV, however, as soon as we walked in the door he decided to go to bed.

 

While he tried to sleep we, according to what he shared with us the next day, were focused on quesadillas. Sleepless made them; I ate them. “Do you want another quesadilla?” she would ask. “Yes,” I would reply. “If she would have continued to make them you would have continued to eat them,” he told us then asked, “And what the hell were you watching? I woke up to find the TV on the Spanish channel.” “Until now I didn’t even remember eating the quesadillas, so I definitely don’t remember what was on TV,” I replied. “That was me. There were some good shows on last night,” Sleepless admitted.

 

Sometimes its nice to rely on another person’s iceberg and, if you have time and the right cable package, fill up your own iceberg with bilingual penguins.

 

 

While enjoying a sodium-rich meal with Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and his mom, Ice Cream Man mentioned recent feedback from his doctor, “He wants me to lose 10 pounds.” “That’s all?” his mom asked while Sleepless and I pretended to be really into our sushi.

 

Later, when the bill came, Ice Cream Man pulled out his credit card and I handed him some cash. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it,” he said. “You really don’t need to,” I said. “I know I don’t need to and I could definitely use the money for therapy to deal with the ‘that’s all’ comment, but I’ve got it,” Ice Cream Man said.

 

Folks….they can be so ‘folksy,’ that’s all.

One year ago last night Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I went to a Halloween party that promised to feature cabaret, voodoo carnivale, creature encounters, and observation-only experiences. We definitely observed a lot and, as the the night came to an end, we sadly discovered that one major promise had been broken – our friends had all departed without us and we were stuck on the West side in the middle of industry with no ride home.

 

This year, to avoid being stranded, we opted to attend a rock opera dance circus “for curious adults” downtown – within walking distance of their house. Being that we live in a state where being an ‘adult’ does not legally mean one is independent or responsible, the selling of alcoholic beverages is not allowed in public venues where nudity will be seen. As a result, we had a drink or two pre-show and Ice Cream Man filled a breastmilk bag full of whiskey for us to enjoy, as ‘adults,’ during the show.

 

Within minutes of arriving and chatting with other patrons we realized that many of them had opted for illegal substances – something we think we may have experienced (not by choice) last year . While they experienced cotton mouth we stuck to our breastmilk bag and the show began. “Why is it that every year we end up at something like this?” Ice Cream Man asked. “Halloween,” I replied.

 

The show definitely gave us what was promised. As the nudity (boobs) presented I leaned over to Ice Cream Man and whispered, “Tuesday.” Being that he is in the middle of a medical experiment of sorts and cannot partake in sexual activity until, you guessed it, Tuesday, he knew exactly what I meant. For him, and for those who make and enforce our state liquor laws, nudity is a no! no!

 

Being that I regularly lack balance and often suffer the consequences, I didn’t worry too much about my shower incident. Sure, my toe was sensitive, but most would say it is nice to see I have a ‘sensitive side;’ so I let it be. As the day progressed however, my toe wanted attention. I had tucked it into a sock, which I then put into a boot, thus, hiding it from my sight. Much like sweeping it under the rug, a trick I learned from my family. Just like the scum rises to the surface of the pond, my toe begin to rise within my  boot.

 

I finally relented and went to a clinic. Based on the bruising, they had some concerns which were confirmed by an x-ray. “Come and take a look at this with me,” the doctor told me and then showed me my x-ray results on a computer. “Our bones start to look a little funny once we’re over 30, so don’t mind those things,” she said while pointing at several areas of the screen. I really have no idea what that meant, but it has become quite apparent that my trying to stay young while my body tries to age is a dangerous combo. “It looks fine from this angle, and that angle, but this angle, well, that’s concerning. It looks a bit like a hairline fracture. I think we’re going to need to boot you for the next three weeks.”

 

The medical assistant fitted me with a boot, all the while apologizing, “Sorry, I know it’s ugly.” “No need to apologize,” I replied and added, “It’s the ‘Fall’ fashion trend. I’ll take it to the runways!” I actually will take it to the runways  – JFK, SEA. Can you say ‘pre-board’? As I left the clinic the receptionist asked how my appointment went. I pointed to my boot and she suggested I “jazz it up a bit with some gems.” “Good idea!” I replied and then remembered my BeDazzler broke last month when I was ‘jazzing up’ a fanny pack for the demolition derby. Broke, broke, broke. With this theme going I have no plans to check my bank account. I’ll just sweep last month’s statement under the rug….

 

 

The other day Live Longer and I enjoyed a lovely meal and then paired our digestif  with a sauna treatment. “Be careful you don’t burn your lip on your glass,” she advised and informed me this is something that happened to Oper once while pairing.

 

As we relaxed in the sauna the temperature continued to rise and the sweat began to drip. “I don’t even have boobs and I’ve got sweat under them,” Live Longer said and then asked, “How hot do you think is too hot?” “Well, the thermostat goes up to 350 degrees and it’s kind of like a speedometer – no point in showing limits if we’re not willing to take them,” I replied. Live Longer wasn’t as eager to take that risk and suggested we depart at or around 200 degrees. “What are the health benefits of a sauna?” she asked me as I licked the rim of my glass in an attempt to cool it down. “Maybe sweating out toxins. For gay men or ‘straight’ men the benefits are usually sexual. At least, that’s what I’ve seen in the movies,” I informed her. “Maybe it is good for scars. Your scar looks really red right now,” she advised.

 

I am still unsure of the health benefits, but one thing was certain, I needed to shower. With all of those toxins sweated out of my body I figured a little exfoliation would do my body good. I began the exfoliation process, hoisted my left foot on the lip of the tub so I could get my heel, and then all hell/heel broke lose.  My foot slipped off the lip of the tub, my big toe bent in an unnatural way, my body lurched forward causing my forehead to hit the tile on the wall, and then I rinsed off the exfoliating scrub.

 

Business as usual at my house. My toe immediately started to swell and was pretty sensitive. Although it didn’t feel too good I had a pretty good feeling about what I might have done to myself. I may not know if a sauna is good for scars but I know I am – scars appear to be my specialty. In fact, if my bones good talk they would most likely speak ‘broken’ English.

I recently went to court to observe testimony at a high profile murder trial.

 

As I selected a pew in which to sit I found reserved seating for CNN – a piece of yellow tape with ‘CNN’ poorly written on it and stuck on one of the pews. I opted to sit directly next to it.

 

The trial began and I quickly learned there are a lot of criminal justice non-professionals who flood trials such as these to blog, tweet and share their wisdom/perspective. My two favorite were the elderly women seated in front of me. They had been ‘whispering’ loudly throughout the duration of the trial and it quickly became clear that they lived for this stuff. As they continued to chat, my interest in what was actually happening shifted to what they thought was happening in the court room.

 

One of the women did most of the talking and she had something to say about nearly everything.

 

As she observed the jurors she leaned toward her friend and said, “With as much as he is losing his hair I would shave it – that’s very in now.”  The other woman nodded and she continued with her observations, “Based on this jury,  you and I would never get picked.”

 

Her focus eventually returned to the actual testimonies. As one of the witnesses testified she was asked where she worked,  “I don’t work. I retired after 32 years.”  The older woman leaned over to her friend and said, “Did you hear that? She was fired. They didn’t even ask a follow-up question.” A hearing impairment and misinformed – I only wanted to see/hear the trial through her eyes/ears.

 

The witness continued to testify, this time focusing on the defendant’s demeanor one day after his wife’s funeral, “He seemed happy.” “Seemed happy?” the elderly woman in front of me said and then added, “Object. Inconclusive.”

 

Sadly, right soon after this comment her friend announced she was tired and decided to step outside and take a nap in the lobby. Thus, Monday Morning ‘Court’erbacking ceased….until after nap time.

Our book club has quickly evolved; primarily because most of the members are not reading the books. In fact, at this month’s book club (which was really movie club) one of the new members asked a cute question, “So you guys don’t actually read?” “No,” and “Some do,” were the answers provided. To be honest, this is totally fine with me. I’ve never really understood why so many good movies are turned into books.

 

At the end of our Bridesmaids movie book club we discussed our plans for our next gathering and the ideas were flowing. “Maybe we could read a cook book.” “At least one recipe.” “Or a craft book.” “Magazine club could be fun.” “Let’s all plan on reading and discussing next month’s People magazine.” “How about if we just read three articles and not the entire magazine?” “Maybe we should just focus on reading anything 250 words or less.”

 

Ultimately, we decided to do craft book club. More specifically, Amy Sedaris’ Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People, which supports one of our favorite Bridesmaids’ quotes, “Help me, I’m poor.” Suggested attire: crafty sweater.

 

Once I got home I did a search for ‘crafty’ and I must admit, I am intrigued and very much looking forward to these sweaters because, according to www.thefreedictionary.com, ‘crafty’ is ‘marked by underhandedness, deviousness or deception.’ I wouldn’t mind a hand under my sweater.

 

With just 20 minutes until book club I received a request for a television interview. The theme for this book club was ‘Bridesmaids’ so my hair was pulled up like Palin’s, I had a large feather ‘fascinator’ on my head, my make-up looked like lipstick on a pig, my best fake pearls were around my neck and my strapless turquoise blue dress was hugging my body.

 

A quick change was needed but with my hair sprayed and make-up painted they would need to stay in place. To maintain a ‘professional’ and librarian/school teacher look, I kept the pearls on and added  a hot pink cardigan. Blue may say power, but red lips and and a hot pink cardigan scream – not sure what, but they scream.

 

The reporter arrived, I participated in my interview, and she said, “People probably won’t recognize you because you never wear make-up.” She may be on to something because I also never wear pearls or do my hair.

 

Later, back in full costume and watching Bridesmaids, Sleepless observed that Kristen Wiig’s character got up and put on/refreshed her in the morning, before her beau woke, and then got back into bed. “Have any of you ever done that?” Sleepless asked. All said no, including me who added, “Only if I don’t want them to recognize me.”