Author: grigiogirl

There are certain gifts you never give someone for their birthday, specifically, children and pets. These are gift no-no’s because they are most likely to  cause a bit of relationship trouble between the giver and the receiver and there is a great likelihood they will be regifted.

No Action Jaxon is one of those gifts, not to me, but to his owner. Last Fall, No Action Jaxon started making guest appearances at my house, spending anywhere from two hours to a couple of days. For a while, it kind of felt like visitation.

At some point, it went from feeling like visitation to full-time custody. In fact, about two months ago No Action Jaxon was dropped off for the weekend and he has been here ever since, with no word from his owner.

That’s Not Chinese continues to tell me I’m a dog owner, she finds humor in referring to me as a DogMa. I continue to tell her I am not. Some of my friends, especially those with animals, tell me I am going to get attached and not want to give No Action Jaxon back to his owner – if and when she returns. I disagree. In fact, I think  She’s a Hard One said it best, “Uh, no, I didn’t birth it out of my vagina, so, no. No attachment.”

Every now and again I think I might want to buy a new car. Today was one of those days. Chatted with my friend (Pull-Out Couch) at the dealership about, perhaps, buying a car from him. Currently I’m considering a Fit. I see it as part of my training regimen for the 5K and for life. See, if I own a Fit, I don’t necessarily need to be fit. Right?

Speaking of fit, Pull-Out Couch and I started talking about training and the 5k. He advised me he has no interest in running. He followed that with, “I won’t even run down to the end of my street, and I live on the corner.” Pull-Out Couch and I have a lot in common.

After not buying a car, I stopped in at a bit of a fashion show, only to find the word “fashion” is often used loosely, and then dropped by the library to pick up a few more of my hold items (White Stripes and Cat Stevens). For weeks Alice has been telling me I will meet someone at the library and today her theory played out. I was perusing the shelves for My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands by Chelsea Handler, when a man approached me and began discussing the diverse selection of books. He went on to tell me he never checks out any books from the library nor does he buy them from the book store. Instead, he has his own books (not sure of their origin) that he brings to either facility and reads. Hmmm. Dewey is looking better and better every day. 

As I approached my house I was welcomed by That’s Not Chinese, equipped with a bottle of wine, on my stoop. We discussed each of our daily ongoings and she advised me against a Fit – doesn’t care for the design of the rear lamps. Fair enough. Several glasses of wine later, we had both confessed of our weekly sins and provided each other forgiveness – it’s good to have friends like that. Feeling renewed, we started singing along with one of the library cds, until it started skipping.  Oh well, I’ve never really cared for track 9 on any cd I’ve had.

Last night, after miles and miles of kegels, I told my neighbor I would help him with my garden today. You see, I happen to have a little space behind my house that is begging to be a garden. I’ve never really wanted to tend to it on my own and this year my new neighbors expressed an interest in gardening with me. Fortunately, for me, it has turned into them gardening for me. Feeling a slight bit of guilt about that, I pledged to help today. Didn’t happen. Clearly, that was just the kegels talking.

So, instead of grabbing a hoe and moving some dirt around, I spent time with some of my favorite hos. Don’t take offense to this term, they don’t. I got the privilege of coffee and sham shopping with OregganO; lunch with Q; a walk with Alice, Louise, Hazel, and No Action Jaxon; and a concert with BeCuz. After the concert, MiniMe joined BeCuz and I for dinner, book shopping and coffee.

While at coffee, BeCuz got a text from her main squeeze. He was in a bit of a mood because his Friday night ritual: vodka and coke, nachos with loads of cheese, sci-fi, and a happy ending, had been disrupted (kids had taken over the tv and she had left him at home, alone, with “them” – the kids). In addition, he had invited us to hot tub with him and we had respectfully declined. Not being able to hot tub with relatives (especially Liv) is always a downer.

BeCuz began telling me and MiniMe that she is baffled by the things that get his libido going nowadays, specifically the Friday Night CockTail:  vodka and coke, nachos with loads of cheese, and sci-fi. Not too mind boggling for me. Its simple, he’s into aphrocheesiacs. Cheese. The new Viagra.

As most athletes and athletic supporters know, being “on the road” can really impact one’s training regimen. With my 5K Mud Run only a week away, it is essential that I stay in shape. This isn’t to say I’m in good shape, but I am a shape, and it’s definitely not square.

That said, I committed myself to exercising while on the road. I bet I kegeled for a good twenty miles, which is like six times the miles I need to run, so I’m pretty proud of myself.

Kegels are pretty beneficial. They prevent tears and incontinence, which are both big deals for a 5K;  especially since I’ll be wine tasting  with CounterCat and Muffin the entire day prior to the run.  Another benefit: you can kegel anywhere without anyone knowing. I had almost forgotten the simplicity of kegeling. Now that I’m kegeling again, I plan to do them as often as possible. Mostly because I want to have this exchange with people:

People: Hey, what are you doing?

Me: Kegeling.

With all of the scandals, gossip and lies consuming our lives today, people really appreciate the truth.  So, yes, I kegel and tell. I do not, however, kiss and tell. I kiss and yell.  

According to my research, kegeling three times a day is recommended, as is doing them with other routine tasks such as checking email, public speaking, and blow drying your hair. I may not be able to do them with the latter, thats my squats time and I don’t think kegsquats are a good idea. Plus, it just sounds bad:

People: Hey, what are you doing?

Me: Kegsquating.

Occasionally I get the privilege of traveling outside the “big city” for work meetings. Today was one of those occasions.

With me on this trip is Fru Fru Pants, Road Husband and Tomatillo. Road Husband has traveled with Fru Fru Pants and I before and definitely prefers to not draw attention of others. We prefer to refer to ourselves as his sister wives which, conversely, often draws attention. Other items that draw attention: BumpIts. We don’t own any,  just covet them. I did, however, suggest that Road Husband don one on our next road trip. He probably won’t buy one, which is ok, I just ordered one for him and fully plan to gift it to him next road trip.

Tomatillo is new to the mix. He’s a chipper amigo with a lot of great stories. In a way, he is like a new sister wife. Mostly because he got to sit in the front with Road Husband and chirp in his ear all the way here. He is unlike a sister wife in that he likes sisters, not brothers. Regardless, he was a perfect fit for our little mix. This became most obvious when he, out of nowhere, announced, “I’m strapped like a tictac and can breathe under water AND I can hold my breath for like 7.5 minutes.”

Upon arriving at the hotel we made sure to ask the most important questions: when is happy hour; where are the good restaurants; and, is it possible for others to hear what is going on in our rooms. With those questions answered, we all headed to our separate rooms.

Fru Fru Pants is typically in charge of booking the rooms. In the past, she and I shared a room. It was great. It was a smoking room, so we bummed some cigs from a guy in the bar, she pulled out her violin, and we had a delightful evening. That is, until the meat finally made its way through my digestive system. I asked Fru Fru Pants if my butt symphony was the reason she and I didn’t share a room this go round. She changed the subject.

After we all had some time to recoup from the drive, we decided to head into town for dinner. Keep in mind, we’d been on the road together for several hours and had shared several stories. It was a lot like confession. I don’t really know what confession is like, but I’ve seen it on tv, and it was a lot like that.

We picked the trendiest restaurant in town and settled in for some good grub and drink. It only took a few minutes of us being there before the couple next to us moved to a different table. We were glad for that – they were so quiet and reserved, it was a bit of a dining downer. Fru Fru Pants suggested I share my bedknobs and broomsticks story with the boys, however, Road Husband wanted me to wait until we were out of the restaurant.

So, instead of sharing my story, Fru Fru Pants shared a story from the good ol’ days. Road Husband was never so anxious to have someone process his credit card and Tomatillo, whose stories can top many stories, turned bright red (and everyone knows tomatillo is green). At the same time, several other patrons appeared to have heard the punchline. Luckily, our waitress quickly (not a surprise) brought us our bill and we were out the door.

Back at the hotel (isn’t that a song? no, it’s back to the hotel by n2deep), we all made our way to our rooms. I decided this was a good time to take advantage of a big, flat screen tv (I have, until recently, been enjoying a deep 19″…. tv).

Unfortunately, yet fortunately, the tv in my hotel room was only set up for audio and the tunes were old school. So, with 65 Love Affair playing on the “Audio Only” tv, I decided to pop in my retainers (top and bottom) and practice a few of my breakdancing moves. The songs (and my moves, I might add) are only getting better. Madonna. Human League. Jon Secada. Paper Lace. Barry Manilow. I finally understand why people want such big tvs, these songs (with “Audio Only” text flashing on a large black screen) are great!

Today was the first night of Italian 101 for Alice and I. For the rest of the people in our class, it was the second night. They were one lezione ahead of us. Alice and I don’t need lezione 1, we drink Italian wine!

Upon arriving we knew we were in for trouble or that, maybe, we were trouble. Anxious to be bilingual we arrived early, walking in on the Geman class. The teacher, who was also our Italian teacher, motioned for us to exit and, in English, told us to shut the door.

Once we finally made our way into the classroom, trouble ensued!  We did not do our homework, a movie about Mussolini, and we had no idea how to conjugate verbs. Non capiscso! In addition, we had overachievers in the mix. There is one or one with a twin in every class. More about her later.

As our teacher, That’s Not Italian, started going around trying to memorize everyone’s names, she learned we were new to the class. Upon this discovery, Alice leaned over to me and said (in English), “I can’t believe she doesn’t remember we weren’t here the first night.” Alice is right, we’re pretty unforgettable. Kind of like Bombshell McGee. Speaking of which, Bombshell McGee was sitting in the back row and has a big borsa. Once it was obvious we were “green” to the language and the class I let everyone know, “Clearly, we’re not going to do very well in this class, we can’t even read English.  We thought the class was on Thursdays and missed the first night.” Everyone laughed, in Italian. Hoha hola. But I jest, hoha hola is how you pronounce Coca Cola in Italian, if you’re “pure,” which, of course, we are.

As we were going around telling everyone what we have (English translation: boasting), Overachiever had to use a four word phrase when everyone else only used three word phrases. That’s right, she said, “Io ho pantalone blu.” Showoff. Oh, and the flying fish tat on your wrist, signore, please! Bombshell McGee, who lie ha vino, was like, whatever (with Italian attitude!).

Somehow, we quickly moved to plurals. Alice quipped, “Noi abbiamo pennas.” Wrong! Then I said, “Voi avete scrivanias.” That’s Not Italian replied, “You girls, you think you can just add a ‘s’ and make it plural.” We really don’t think that, we were just testing her. Then she said, “That’s not Italian. Italians say, ‘you want to speak Spanish, just add ‘s.” You girls, you grammarly super incorrect.”

It’s pretty clear Alice and I, with our grammarly (yes Add-ly, grammar is now a noun) super incorrect, must head to the library and check out some children’s books on Italian. We’re definitely going to need some picture books to make it through this class. Or, maybe, just more wine. As Alice so wisely wrote (in a secret note that she passed to me at the first part of class), “Clearly, a glass of wine would have helped.”

Today’s homework assignment: Google Carla Bruni. We did. She’s hot naked. As soon as we saw her, we both exclaimed, “Hoha Hola!”

My hair is a great outlet for me. I am constantly changing the color, cut and style because I love change and it provides me a sense of freedom. Most recently, I’ve been going with big or “rockstar” hair, as they refer to it at the office. I’m quite enjoying it and find it pairs well with NASCAR, corndogs and arcades.

There are some people who are fascinated by these “bold” hair moves, because they are accustomed to the same color and style they have had for years. For most, leaving their hair the same makes life simple and many are afraid of venturing out. Which I get, venturing out definitely has it’s price.

For example, once I was trying to go from brunette to blonde and my stylist used a product designed to strip the color from my hair. It worked, sort of. My hair was a very natural apricot color for about a week. More recently, Johnny Utah informed me that one of my styles, a shoulder length bob with fringe, looked like “Cleopatra Dumb and Dumber.” He pulled up a picture of Jim Carrey, aka Lloyd Christmas, to prove his point. He’s crazy, my hair wasn’t anywhere near that color.

Recently learning that I am Greek (http://grigiogirl.com/2010/04/not-popular/), I decided to color my hair black. The color appointment took longer than expected, leaving me no time to have my eyebrows colored to match. Upon arriving at work, DaJo, an honest and fashionable man, told me, “Love the new hair, now go home and color your eyebrows to match.”

I’ve colored by eyebrows at home before when my hair was an auburn color.  I ended up looking like Ronald McDonald or Bozo the Clown. But that was years ago and, naturally looking black eyebrows, that should be easy. I bought my product, carefully applied it to my brows, only allowed it to process for a bit and was quickly reminded of the importance of professional estheticians. Only a few things could enhance my thick black eyebrows: sunglasses and/or landing the role as one of the background singers in the musical Mamma Mia.

Lucky for me, thick brows on women are supposedly the latest trend. I have a feeling large sunglasses and hats will be my latest trend. I’m definitely steering clear of Johnny Utah – I don’t want to see my current doppelganger according to him, I have a feeling it might be Joan Crawford, aka Blanche Hudson. My personal opinion is I bare a striking resemblance to my Wii Mii, but I haven’t seen her for 47 days, so I could be wrong.

I truly tried to be faster than the speed of light yesterday (the day formerly known as today and the day on which I was born). Sadly, I was not. As a result, I did not have an entry on April 10th; blog or otherwise.

My day started beautifully with a surprise call from The Leaver and, subsequently, coffee with her at the local coffee garden. Our encounter appears to have resulted in me going to Mexico with her girlfriend for a wedding in June. Typical Saturday.

Later in the evening, I met up with some friends at a local bar. I figured I would have one drink with them and then I would meet up with The Leaver, Karaoke Queen (with whom I may spend a week in Mexico) and their lovely friends.   

My one drink was beer and I’m not much of a beer drinker, so it took me a while to consume. Don’t act surprised, my URL isn’t www.beerbitch.com. After conquering my pint, which also took a while because I was telling stories of yesterblog, I had another. As a result, I did not end up meeting up with The Leaver and her peeps. Bummer.

Fortunately, I was in good company with Add-ly, Johnny Utah (aka, Mr. and Mrs. McDreamy) and their friends, several of whom were clearly doppelgangers. Johnny Utah was getting several pics with the doppelgangers and I suggested he move into a better lit area for all of his celebrity pics -primarily because he appeared very dark in the pics. His response, “I am dark. No seriously, I’m tan. I go tanning.” We decided to do a bit of a pub crawl and started making our way down main street. Add-ly was hungry, so I led us toward a tapas bar. Being that Add-ly was in a different county than that which she claims as her residence, she was about an hour ahead of the actual time. Sadly, so was the tapas bar: closed with the open sign flashing. Ironic.

We ended up at a martini bar instead, which appeared to be waiting for us. Johnny Utah and I threw down some dance moves while Add-ly kept an eye on our goods and fended off young chaps aspiring to be with her (common occurrence). Johnny Utah quite liked watching her squirm. Naughty Johnny Utah.

We ended the night with breakfast at a local diner and rocking out to track four of a public library cd. Have I mentioned how much I love the public library?  We walked together, we were walking down the street, we just couldn’t get enough, we were out of our heads. Just can’t get enough. Just can’t get enough (Repeat to end).

Started my day right with The Leaver, Happy Lady and Her Husband. As usual, Happy Lady and Her Husband wowed us with their artistic baristic abilities. The tulip in my white velvet was both tasty and tantalizing.

The Leaver, who could also be called The Payer – she prefers to pay – was in rare form. We decided to drink our hot and saucy beverages outside and, in doing so, got the privilege of meeting two very lovely peeps – The Leaver’s peeps, per say. I told them some of my peeps were buried by their peeps, as a result of the days of segregation, at the cemetery just east of the coffee shop. These new peeps informed me I was Greek and not Dutch. This is something they were very sure of – who needs genealogy when you’ve got strong, sassy and friendly Greek women to tell you your heritage.

Later in the day I had the privilege of meeting up with another Greek, That’s Not Chinese. Today is the last day of her job, which is sad for me, because I was quite enjoying the “Happy 5th, 4th, 3rd, 2nd, last day of work” songs I was leaving on her voicemail.

That’s Not Chinese and I grabbed two bottles of Sebastiani Cabernet Sauvignon and headed to Tree’s place of employment. Upon arriving, we were not hungry. Probably a direct result of the smokies in the mini crock that we had chased with wine on the stoop.

Nonetheless, we ordered food. Tree finished working, quickly scooted home to change into a sexy plaid shirt, and joined us for “dinner.”  While dining, Tree informed us his sign, Capricorn, was the bean counter of the Zodiac. As a result, he likes to use his fingers when he counts. This is important because we had discussed the idea of sleeping with coworkers. Tree quipped, “Yes, great idea. Sleep with a coworker and see what bad comes of it.” He then counted, using his digits, all of the jobs he has worked in which he did not sleep with coworkers. None. His response, “I’ve made a lot of bad decisions, that’s not one of them.”

As dinner was winding up, That’s Not Chinese pulled out her chapstick and announced her lips were extremely dry. She began generously applying her chapstick (which was looking more and more like amniotic fluid, http://grigiogirl.com/2010/02/thats-not-chapstick/) in the general area of her month and exclaimed, “Mmmmm, I love this.” As her friend, I advised her the reason her lips are dry is because her chapstick is all around her mouth, not on her lips, which explains the dryness. Tree concurred. That’s Not Chinese told us we were mean. Tree replied, “It’s not mean, it’s true and, p.s., you’re not popular, you’re a slut.”

It is not uncommon for people to legally change their name. They can do it when they marry (in traditional marriages the female takes the male’s surname, very rarely the other way around); when they adopt; when they enter a witness protection program; or, one can “simply” make a legal request to change their name.

I know several people who have changed both their first and last name, just their first name or just their last name. For the most part, none of these requests are disputed or denied.

There was the woman in Sweden who wanted to change her name to ‘Dark Knight,’ denied. Then there was the case in New Zealand in which the parents lost custody of their nine-year-old, ‘Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii,’ until they renamed her. Other names that have caught the attention of the courts: Midnight Chardonnay, Number 16 Bus Shelter, Fish and Chips, Yeah Detroit, and Sex Fruit.

I knew a guy called “David” who, at the age of 36, changed his name to “Brayden.” Whenever we would get in disagreements, instead of resorting to old fashioned name calling, I would just call him “David.”

With all of that in mind, I wondered today if one could legally change their date of birth. I mean a name is a pretty big deal – a major part of your identity – and you can change that. So, why not your date of birth?

Depending on which direction you go, older or younger, you could really benefit. For example, if you make yourself old enough, you could retire, benefit from senior discounts and qualify for Medicare. If you went the other way, you could relive your youth. It’s never too late to have a happy childhood, right? In addition, when people quip, “Were you born yesterday?” you can proudly reply, “As a matter of fact, I was born yesterday, and I’ve got the court documents to prove it.”