Author: grigiogirl

A while back I decided to commit myself to a little idea I had called “Project Commitment.”

 

This was a project designed to help me revamp my dating prospects and protocols. I reviewed my journal from the project and found the first problem: I only committed to the project for five days and met an ex for breakfast on Day One.

 

Another not so productive aspect of Day One involved my online research for all things related to commitment; which landed me on meetaninmate.com (a site dedicated to lonely attractive inmates in the USA seeking penpals). Finally, a place to meet men and women who are “committed”…..usually for 1-5 years, sometimes for life.

 

David, a prisoner in Oregon, really pulled at my heartstrings with this comment: “Don’t be intimidated by my tattoos and outer appearance. I’m the type that will bring you milk and cookies in bed, and then have you laughing so hard you’d spray milk out your nose.”

Romantic. In his personal details there were even more treasures. Religion: Christian. Occupation Before Prison: Gangster. This concerns me because if he ever injures his hands he won’t be able to pray or throw gang signs and then he’ll be both out of a God and out of a job.

 

Day Two proved to be slightly less productive than day one. I spent the day, in workout clothes (no, I didn’t go to the gym), watching Lifetime Television for Women.

 

Day Three was even less productive. I did, however, get a “tip” from a coworker, “Commit’mint’ is not an after dinner candy.” Who knew?

 

On Day Four, That’s Not Chinese suggested I try online dating. She gave it a go once and met four prospects. All of their names started with “J” and did not exceed two syllables. Sadly, the relationships did not last; leaving me wondering if it was the online dating, the first letter of their name, or the lack of two or more syllables that prevented commitment.

 

Day Five read, “on a hiatus of sorts.” Uh oh, sounds like a relapse. Too bad I didn’t write anything beyond that. I’m interested to know what I did on “hiatus.”

 

I was proper impressed with my commitment to that project. I decided to review some of my other projects and files and found a folder titled “One Liners.” I opened the document to find just that: one-one liner, “Is that a Rolex, or do you just have good timing?”

 

Again, impressive. I’m definitely committed to the idea of doing things; it’s the application and follow through that stumps me.

Paid a visit to my favorite BumpIt Beautician today. I always enjoy spending several hours at the salon and today’s experienced topped all previous visits. I had the privilege of sitting next to Verna and Sissy. Verna and Sissy weren’t there together, however, recognized each other between the hair stations. Once the recognition was made, the stories were flying.

Verna decided to pamper herself with a manicure, pedicure and a perm. “A perm?” Sissy asked. “Hell ya,” said Verna. “I’m still in the 80s. Right down to my hair, my friends, my tats and my charges.” Her laughter after this comment filled the room. Sissy and Verna began reminiscing when Sissy looked my way and said, “Me and her used to steal cars together. Verna, ‘member when I stole that car and then you got caught? That was so funny.” They started dropping names of other friends – Boxer, Smooth, SugarBear, Sleepy and Whispers – which made me a little jealous, those are some good nicknames.

Sissy told Verna she “had a real bad addiction” but started going to church and it has changed her ways. “I love church,” she told Verna. Verna concurred and Sissy asked her the name of the church she attends. Verna drew a blank. Sissy snapped, “You don’t go to church. You don’t even know what your church is called. Doesn’t matter. Living in a garage doesn’t make you a car and going to church doesn’t make you a christian.” Perhaps it was the ammonia, but this salon visit was getting better and better with each perm rod.

As they were finishing Sissy’s hair one of the stylists asked her what her hair used to look like. Sissy advised her it was a longer mullet of sorts, cut by herself. Sissy had come in for a makeover, and her stylist, “I’m King of the Roundbrush. No, wait, I’m Queen of the Roundbrush”, had done a fine job taking care of her. Sissy looked in the mirror and said, “I’ve wanted to get my hair cut this way ever since I got out of prison this last time.” Queen of the Roundbrush replied, “Well, girl, you look good. Now you just need to go get yourself a cute little outfit from Walmart.”

BumpIt Beautician was blowing out my hair with the roundbrush and told me, “I’m getting really fast at the roundbrush.” Yes, she was. I only came in for a color and, almost four hours later, was almost done. One of the other stylist came up to me and whispered in my ear, “I would not recommend a cute little outfit from Walmart to go with your new do. Nordstrom, honey. You didn’t get a prison haircut.”

The other day I was chatting with MiniMe about her trip to Ireland. She told me she likes Jameson. A day or two later she asked, “Were you disappointed that I drink or that I like Jameson?” I replied, “That you like Jameson. My blog is GrigioGirl, not JamesonJezebel.”

MiniMe stayed at my house while I was in Seniorville. Apparently the mouse in the house, aka MiniMe, ate my ice cream. Yes, my freezer burn ice cream. The ice cream I was saving to enjoy with the muscat. OregganO replied, “That sounds really good, but I can’t eat ice cream.” So, we just drank muscat and observed.

From where OregganO was sitting, she could see Red Terry and PhD in Sponges. From where I was sitting, I could see drive-bys. A lot of drive-bys tonight. Even had a few ding-dong bys. No black men today. Last time OregganO and I drank in the house, and the doorbell rang, OregganO ran for the door, “ate shit and fell”, while making the backroom corner, only to tell me, “there is a black man at your door.” I do know some “black men”, but outside of Dr. BJ, most of them don’t have my home address. Not yet, anyway.

OregganO and I pulled out the binoculars to observe activity taking place, approximately 20 feet from our said position. I thought we (OregganO and I) were both involved in a mutual conversation when she said, completely out of context,  “Hand gestures, pencil flipping, eraser biting, eyebrows raised, they’re weird.”

“I really wish I could see that,” I told her. “We have to see how long they sit at the table without pulling out a calculator and a tablet of paper,” she retorted. Hmmm. I think I may have to binoc OregganO and Cream of Tartar’s asses. Sounds like they’re kinky.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” blurted OregganO, “She is workin’ it in the red terry, working isn’t working for her or him, but the red terry, oh yeah!”

A few seconds later, OregganO proclaimed, “What about a couch? I used to be a davenport, only because I used to be in a play, don’t tell MiniMe.” Later she said, “It’s almost like PhD in Sponges has a real job:  hittin’ the Red Terry.”

The best part of my day today was spent in the greeting card aisle. I was looking for birthday cards and stumbled upon a gold mine. Unfortunately, I have to hold on to the cards for a while, because most of my friends have just recently celebrated their birthdays. Alice is a prime example. Her actual birthday was in October and her according to me birthday (birthday, Arbor day, what’s the difference?) was in April. She didn’t seem to mind the erroneous card and gift in April, so I may actually give her another soon.

While walking around the store, I found a good amount of reminders of some of my blog entries and other entries of sorts. The safety recall notice in the mop section made me think,”I bet there are some people who wish they’d had the luxury of a simple safety recall notice.” 

I made my way to work and got the pleasure of chatting with ROFL. Being that he is into all things www, I regularly reference my blog when speaking with him. He regularly has no idea what I am talking about. Today was no different, except that ROFL made a commitment to read my blog and comment, maybe. Nothing like a maybe commitment.

Except, regifting. Regifting is about as good as a maybe commitment. With today being a friend’s birthday, I decided to regift No Action Jaxon. I gave him a nice bath, tied a green for recycling/regifting ribbon around his neck, put all of his goodies in a basket and sent a picture of this lovely ensemble to the recipient. I’m sure she is ecstatic. Hopefully he doesn’t come back this way. If he does, it’s no more No Action Jaxon or J.R. Muffnstuf – his name will have to be changed, to Boomerang.

It seems like forever since I’ve seen Alice. She and Hot Mustard have family in St. John and had to go visit – poor things. When I picked her up for Italian class today she started telling me about her trip. Then she showed me her legs and said, “I hate St. Thomas. We had to go to St. Thomas and I hate it.” I asked if the red spots taking over her legs were mosquito bites and she replied, “No, no-see-ums.” I asked, “Noseeums,” because in my mind that was all one word, “What are those?” “I don’t know,” said Alice, “I no see um.”

We got to class and it became apparent it was going to be a no-speak-um Italian night. This happens a lot. I highly doubt anyone in class can complete a full sentence in Italian, but we know a lot of nouns and everyone knows Overachiever has pantalones blu. I told Alice that Senor De la Cruz, my seventh grade Spanish teacher, would never let me get away with only knowing nouns. It was full sentences only in his class. In this class, I know borsa (purse), but I couldn’t tell you if I have one, want one, need one, wear one, stole one or dumped one out in front of the class.

Which is exactly what That’s Not Italian did today. She went Breakfast Club Ally Sheedy on our no-speak-um Italian asses and started pulling random items out of her borsa and having us name them in Italian. She preferred to pull the items out in twos, kind of like Noah, if he had a borsa instead of an ark.

Discussing the items in her borsa lead to a discussion about what the men in class like to use when they shave and how they do it. For example, Direct Translation informed everyone, “I use a shaving oil from Scotland, just two drops, it’s perfect.” Alice wrote me a note while this conversation was progressing, “Fucked Up Italian.” Yes, that is what we are taking, FUI. Alice is always spot on. That’s Not Italian was quite enjoying the shaving discussion and told us she has a tendency to “get on trandems.” Translation: go off on a tangent.

All of the shaving talk reminded me of the idea I had while swimming at the 55 and older pool. Q, MyFace, That’s Not Chinese and I were discussing the pros and cons of waxing and what all should be waxed. It was then that I had a visual and, of course, had to share it with them. I thought it might be a good idea to wax everything but the bikini line and let the bikini/side line pubic hairs grow out long enough to do a combover. Alice was quite pleased with this idea and we decided to ask That’s Not Italian how to say ‘combover’ in Italian. She told us, “Italians no combover, that’s America thing.” 

While heading home from class, Alice and I started talking about taking another class once this one ends. We’re thinking English. In doing so, maybe we’ll learn Italian.

Within a few hours of arriving at our lovely home away from home, it became apparent we might be the Salahis of Surprise, aka party crashers – a concept and practice I’ve always enjoyed. The community in which we were residing was very retirement friendly. As a result, dating odds weren’t good, unless you’re into taking your teeth out at night.

That’s Not Chinese and MyFace made the room decisions while Q and I were getting massages and facials.  That’s Not Chinese got the private casita, MyFace got the master bedroom and Q and I got our own rooms with a shared bathroom. One morning Q said to me, “You don’t make any noise when you sleep and you don’t move much – you just kind of lay there, like you’re dead.” It took a minute before I thought the latter part of her comment was strange. Once I figured that out, I asked Q if she came into my room in the middle of the night and watched me sleep. She said “yes,” and I told her I had  a feeling that may have been the case.

In addition to having a very luxurious living arrangement, we also had a private pool, so we didn’t have to go to the clubhouse pool – probably a win-win for everyone. MyFace and I decided to hold our own version of the olympics/senior games and had tube races across the pool. It was after this event that I decided I would take up the art of the tube. Q was also my inspiration, when she unsuccessfully attempted to pull the tube over her head and baby bloated belly. By the end of the vacation I was able to jump right into the center of the tube without incident. I’ve got to figure out a good way to briefly share this skill on my resume. I may also consider being a Navy Seal.

One evening we were on the patio, enjoying the warm evening air, when MyFace suggested a toast. I’m not sure what had happened to my drink (I can only assume someone drank it), so I raised my glass of water. MyFace was having no part of this, “You can’t cheer with water, that’s bad luck.” This explains a lot of things. 

Towards the last part of the trip we finally saw a neighbor. Most of the homeowners only come around in the winter, so outside of the people whose party we crashed at the clubhouse, there were very few people out and about. The next door neighbor could hear us in the pool and thought she would check in on us. MyFace explained to her who she knew and why we were there. The neighbor didn’t seem too interested in that information, but was very interested in the answer to her next question, “How long are you staying?” Today, as we were leaving, we noticed a “For Sale” sign in the neighbor’s yard – hope it wasn’t the tube talent that drove her away.

Yesterday was the start of a four day weekend with my girls. We had massages and facials scheduled an hour after our flight arrived, so MyFace suggested (instructed, actually) I only bring a carryon. I agreed (knowing I would check a bag, I have to, I’m Medallion status) and asked what she was packing. Her reply, “swimsuit, shorts, dress, couple tops, maybe underwear.” Perfect.

I picked up That’s Not Chinese and made sure to have Do-Wacka-Do on repeat – early mornings aren’t her thing, “Double digits girl, I go to bed when they hit and don’t wake up until they hit again.” We met up with Q and made our way to meet MyFace at the airport. As we approached (translation, half a mile away) the gate, MyFace spotted us and shouted, “You checked your bags! I knew it! I told you carryon only, I can’t believe you. Actually, I can.”

We managed to board, fly and deplane without incident. This is a major accomplishment. Last time we flew, with Fru Fru Pants, we got an “I never!” This was followed up with a lecture about how loud we were on the plane, she (the person in 21B now known as “I never”) now knows everything about us and, she never!

MyFace hooked us up with plush lodging at a country club, a country club with age restrictions: 55 and older, no kids. Luckily we all had fake IDs. Speaking of IDs, a few people had concerns about me coming here, due to the new immigration law and all. I advised them I was looking forward to it, I’ve been wanting to trace my ancestry (which isn’t saying I don’t trust the Greek women at the coffee shop who told me I’m Greek) and, if I get deported, I’ll know all roads lead to Mexico for me. If I do get deported, I hope I can check my bag. If not, I’ll just take a carryon, with underwear, maybe.

Q phoned today to tell me she got upgraded to First Class on our flight to Arizona – so lucky. This got me thinking and I’ve decided I may start a boarding system in my car. Just the other day That’s Not Chinese wanted to know why I had an arm rest on my chair and she didn’t. I didn’t have a response then, but now I do, First Class baby! I think I’ll give those that ride in the front seat a blanket and those in the back seat (coach) will have to pay to use the seatbelts. I’ll probably also let those riding in front get in and out first. This is going to be great.

With everything that’s been going on in Arizona (Immigration law), a lot of people have asked why I’m going there. My answer is simple: I’ve been wanting to find out about my ancestry and figured instead of doing genealogy online I’d just head to Arizona – if I get deported, my work is done.

Depending on how things go this blog may soon be called amiga de grigio.

OregganO sent me a text today telling me she had a surprise for me and to stop by after work. I, of course, obliged and arrived at her house immediately after work. My surprise: black fishnet leggings. I was so excited! I told her I had spoken with Clark Kent today and we were discussing the difference between a bitch and a tramp. After the discussion I told him I would much rather be a tramp. The fishnet leggings couldn’t have come at a better time. OregganO and I shared a glass of wine and I made my way to Italian class, senza Alice. I tried to convince OregganO to join me, but she had things to do. We planned to meet up again after my class.

Class was good as usual, with all kinds of ‘blogworthy’ material. It was, however, not as much fun senza Alice. Apparently last week Not A Good Chef announced he was Not A Good Drunk. Sorry that I missed that. This week, Not A Good Drunk Chef and Overachiever were relatively quiet, while That’s Not Italian was in rare form. We were talking about eating and one of the students wanted to know how to translate ‘beached whale.’ That’s Not Italian responded, “The real Italian are not beached whale. That’s an American thing.” A few minutes later, the power went out in the room. That’s Not Italian instructed us to, “move around, a lot, you no move around, that’s the problem, light is magic and shut off.” Quattro Espressos went out of his way to bring power back to the room, which really impressed Bombshell McGee. They’re so cute.

Midway through class I received a text from FatGirl. He and Tree wanted to get drinks. I, of course, told him I was in, as soon as I finished class. I stopped by OregganO’s for conversation and, while there, received another text from FatGirl saying he might not go out  and, instead, would wallow in his self-pity. I responded with, “Why wallow when you can swallow. Meet us for dinner and drinks.” The wallow swallow comment got to him, and he decided to join us.

OregganO and I picked up Tree and we began to make our way to FatGirl’s place. Tree decided to shave some chops and told us, “Now all I need are some assless chaps.” Chaps and chops are where it’s at these days. We arrived at FatGirl’s and, as soon as we opened the door, he started snapping pictures. He did his hair today, but not with a beanie. He informed us, “I finger tossed it….and my hair too.”

Tree and FatGirl had already eaten so we went to a Mexican drive-thru by FatGirl’s house to get food for OregganO and I. FatGirl told us they serve minority scholarships and burritos. Makes sense. We got our burritos and took them to our first stop. While there, we began talking about music and FatGirl informed us he would cry if he met J Lo. Tree informed him he would never cry for any celebrity – ever! Tree then told us how he would charge his mom and aunts a quarter to watch him perform Crystal Gayle’s “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue” and would close with “Purple People Eater,” to bring the mood back up. Such a good man, always thinking of his audience.

ROFL called me with some work questions today and, mid-conversation, told me I sounded like a “bored, stay-at-home, mormon housewife.” I asked him two questions 1) what does a bored, stay-at-home, mormon housewife sound like and b) how does he know what that sounds like? He could not answer either question. I informed him I was, in fact, bored and at home and that my milkman brought me meatloaf instead of mac-n-cheese. ROFL replied, “As long you enjoy the taste, that’s all that matters.”

Later in the day I was making my daily query of the public library database, requesting any and every cd or movie I could remember, when my requests began being denied. Apparently, I have requested too much as of late. It is kind of starting to feel like we’re married, me and Dewey Decimal. It was a bit of a downer to experience such public rejection. I wonder if there are any private libraries from which I could borrow.

In the meantime, I relied upon the sound advice of  Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and decided to love the dvds I was “with”: Bottle Rocket and The General. Both were exceptional. I quite like the description of Martin Cahill (The General): Family man. Psychopath. Folk hero. Gangster. “Psychopath” had me concerned for a minute, but when I read “Folk hero” I melted. Definitely characteristics to watch for when I end things with Dewey and start browsing the personal ads instead of the library catalog.