MiniMe and I were headed to OregganO’s when we decided to stop and pick up Alice. Alice, like so many people on holidays, wasn’t expecting us and was still in her pajamas. After a little coaxing (“Come on, it will be fun, I haven’t showered either”), she brushed her teeth, threw a fleece over her pajama top, and joined us for Bloody Mary’s. As we pulled in the driveway she got to see the ‘insulator,’ which at this point looked like a smoking cardboard box. “What the hell is that?” Alice asked. “It’s Cream of Tartar’s redneck invention, the ‘insulator,'” MiniMe informed her. “Isn’t it great?” “I really wouldn’t park too close,” Alice advised.
Once we got our Bloody Mary’s, Cream of Tartar took Alice and I outside to demonstrate the effectiveness of the ‘insulator.’ After hearing the explanation and having the opportunity to add some apple chips to the base of the smoker, Alice complimented Cream of Tartar on the smoking ‘insulator,’ “It is a great idea, especially because by having it out here your whole house won’t have to smell like turkey. I hate that.” Being a polite host, Cream of Tartar smiled. Being a punk, I informed Alice they had two other turkeys to prepare – one of which was currently in the oven and soon to be stinking up the house. “That reminds me,” Cream of Tartar said, “I’ve got to get the turkey roaster going. Things are about to get dangerous.” It was at this point that we thanked them for our drinks and wished them well until we met up again (which would be later that evening for dessert).
Not wanting to stink up the house (with turkey, potatoes or dish soap), MiniMe and I opted for dinner with I Noticed, QuQueen and The Leaver at a fine dining establishment. The menu was superb and the servers brought the courses out to us at just the right times – in between The Leaver’s frequent departures. The Leaver has a tendency to leave the scene either permanently early on or frequently throughout the course of an event. “I have ADD,” she informed us, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I get up and leave a lot.” “We hadn’t noticed,” QuQueen and I said in unison. “Oh, I noticed,” said I Noticed. “By the way, what are your pseudonyms in the blog?” I Noticed asked them and, before they answered, looked at me and said with pride, “I read the blog.” Once they shared their pseudonyms with her, she replied, “Makes sense.” “You’ll know when we’re in it,” The Leaver advised her, “because it will be really funny.” “And,” I added, “I’ll use their pseudonyms.”
After dinner, QuQueen, The Leaver and I went to OregganO’s for dessert. OregganO and Cream of Tartar had several people over – to include their French neighbor. I was speaking with the French neighbor’s wife about hair and she shared two rather interesting bits of information, 1) it is hard to please a French man, and 2) she cuts his hair, however, dulled the blades of the razor when she shaved the cat’s ass with it. The latter might be why she is struggling with pleasing him, French or otherwise.
As often happens at group gatherings, there were several conversations going at the same time. The Leaver was updating OregganO and a few of the other guests on some of her recent life adventures. I was in the other room, getting desserts ready and listening to The Leaver’s story. “You have no idea how stressed out I was,” The Leaver told OregganO, “I totally got an ulcer. Never had one before.” QuQueen responded with one of those responses that, no matter which conversation you were currently in, you quickly became part of this one, “That wasn’t an ulcer, that was diarrhea.”
Later in the evening, after most of the guests had left, we were discussing some of the various conversations that had taken place throughout the day. OregganO’s mother, Quite Contrary, had been privy to some interesting conversations. One of which involved French neighbor’s wife. “She told me she wishes she had a mother like me. You know why? Because I’m cool, I know things. Like, ‘what tf.'” “What?” we all asked. “You know,” Quite Contrary answered, giving us that ‘where have you been for the past 20 years’ look, “‘What tf.'” BurgerBoy quickly corrected her, “It’s ‘wtf’ mom, not ‘what tf’.” I’m siding with Quite Contrary on this one, ‘wtf’ is so last year. ‘What tf’ is what all the cool cats (with asses shaved with dull blades) say nowadays.
Patty Melt and Bus Driver decided to head out and, considering the fact that it was freezing outside and PattyMelt would have had to hop the fence to get to the car, Bus Driver went and got the car and then came in to retrieve her. As they were saying goodbye, Bus Driver made a special request, “I’d like to change my (pseudo) name in the blog, please. I’d like it to be ‘Chauffeur’.” “What tf, Bus Driver?!?!” I replied and then added, “OK, I’ll change it. From now on you are Chauffeur.” OregganO looked at me, laughed and said, “Seriously, what tf?” And, on that note, well, actually after MiniMe sang a few high notes for Quite Contrary, we went home.