I was glad Oreggano had stayed around to assist with this process because, when she arrived, not only was her wine not ready, her glass was dirty, and she was not pleased. “I can’t believe you didn’t have it waiting for me on a pedestal. And who has been drinking from my glass?” I apologized for not having the pedestal for her, however, the list of  whose lips had touched her glass (and clearly didn’t wash off) was far too long to provide. My survival instincts kicked in, I quickly washed her glass (twice), and provided her a generous pour – a technique that always keeps her around. Now that Oreggano was back in the drinking saddle again I wanted to be sure I did not rub her wrong.

The cutting and rubbing continued when Beaner asked me, “Are you ready to have sex in the sink with your sister?” I, of course, dropped what I was doing and washed her hair. Those who are kinky may think this sounds way kinky. Those who are from Czech Republic, like DDDG, may think ‘way kinky’ and ‘wakey, wakey’ sound like ‘Waikiki.’ Which is exactly what she hears when Skiwi tries to wake her too soon, saying ‘wakey, wakey,’ while tickling her feet – definitely rubbing her the wrong way.

This ‘presence’ has it’s perks, such as being invited to join in the evening festivities in the ‘hospitality’ suite. In an effort to ‘share the wealth, I invited The Responsible One to join us, “Drinks with the elite tonight?” “By elite do you mean old?” she quipped. I quickly looked around to see if anyone heard her comment and then replied, “Good thing the elite don’t have the best hearing.”  She agreed to join the festivities and bring Meat Eater.

We arrived to find the drinks were flowing, as was the conversation. Being that we were with a lot of attorneys,  the conversation often involved words that some of us, attorneys included,  didn’t understand. The first example involved the discussion of a tailored suit. “How were the hands?” one of the attorney asked. “The hands?” asked the other. “Yes, the hands – the feel of the fabric.” “It felt like fabric,” the other replied. “Did it drape well?” “Drape well? It wasn’t made by Julie Andrews of The Sound of Music,” the other quipped. “That is not what I mean. You are such a philistine,” the one attorney replied. “Philistine?” the other asked. “Yes, philistine. Unsophisticated, unknowing,” advised the sophisticated attorney. “I know this,” I interjected, “My drink is gone. Can someone please phili my glass?”

That’s Not Chinese and I were on my stoop the other day when my neighbor stopped by and we started discussing relationships. “I’m not a lesbian,” That’s Not Chinese advised her. “Are you a lady loving lady?” my neighbor asked. “That’s one way to put it. I like to say I am a girl who likes girls,” That’s Not Chinese replied. “She’s trying not to be a lesbian right now. Primarily because the second date is approaching and she isn’t ready for a new roommate…yet. Maybe she is a thespian,” I quipped.

“That’s the truth about lesbians,” my neighbor replied and added, “I seem to attract straight women.” “I just attract gay men,” I replied, thought about some past experiences, and provided a revision, “I guess I attract lesbians and straight women too.” “I could see that. You definitely always have a lot of women over here,” my neighbor commented. “That’s because I’m running a brothel,” I advised her.

After they left, I thought about how grateful I am to be near misses. Although they may not be ‘friends with benefits,’ they bring lots of benefits to my life. In fact, a recent study found social relationships are good for everyone’s lives and are truly key to good health. Thus, ‘near miss’ isn’t a safety hazard, it’s a safety necessity.

To all of my near misses, thank you for the laughter, support, tears, wine and, in some cases, dreams about me. You are my oxygen!

While there, we stumbled upon a couple who, like us, did what they were supposed to do in wine country. As we chatted the woman and I realized we were clearly destined to meet – perhaps even separated at birth. We came to this conclusion when we noticed we both shared the same cheek dimple. We bonded immediately, took pictures, and vowed to stay in touch with our long lost and now found dimple sister.

Three years later our dimples remain, as does our connection. As luck would have it, again, we were both in Napa at the same time this year. So, while sniffing and swirling at a vineyard, Dimple Sister and Stray Cat met up with MiniMe, CounterCat, Center Counsel and Mrs. SwissAir.

In addition to being excited to see each other again, Dimple Sister was excited to meet some of the (blog) characters in my life. As we discussed the year of the rabbit – a year Dimple Sister will never forget, Counter Cat said, “I can’t believe you didn’t know about the rabbit.” “She doesn’t need to with me,” Stray Cat proudly replied. The discussion turned to namesakes and Stray Cat advised me, “I used to be known as Straight Guy.” “What? Straight Guy? Really? What’s changed?” I asked. “Not Straight Guy, Stray Cat,” he corrected me and strutted away. “Oh, Stray Cat. I see it now,” I said. I then looked toward Dimple Sister, we ‘winked’ with our dimples, took a sip of wine and celebrated the fact that they strayed this way.

CounterCat stopped by Center Counsel’s mom’s house to retrieve an air mattress and, in addition, received a bag of toilet paper. “Take this – I don’t like it,” his mom told CounterCat as she handed her the bag. “Why don’t you like it?” I asked. “It balls up in your crack and makes you itch,” she candidly responded. “So you’re giving it to CounterCat?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied and added, “Have fun this weekend.”

Fun was definitely in our plans and we kicked it off with digestifs in the kitchen with CounterCat sitting, as expected, on the counter. While discussing some of life’s most important matters – such as toilet paper selection, CounterCat had a ‘moving’ moment. “Was that an earthquake or did I just lose my balance?” she asked. Neither MiniMe or I felt the earth move, so we advised her she had most likely just lost her balance.

Once CounterCat regained her equilibrium, we decided to end the night right with one more special and rather unbalanced moment: the viewing of American Pie. I’d never seen the movie and both CounterCat and MiniMe felt it was crucial to my development.

I was able to sleep much better that night knowing that the toilet paper balls up, we didn’t experience an earthquake, and it may not be that big of a deal that I don’t play a musical instrument – especially the flute.

With MiniMe in the bathroom, and two more ladies in line behind me, I advised them I was going to take the key back to the bar so none of us had to take it in with us. I quickly did so, returned to my place in line and, seconds later, a large black woman – with the key in her hand – shoved passed the two women behind me, and attempted to open the door. “There is already someone in there and there is a line,” I kindly advised her. She raised the hand with the key and replied, “I’m going in. I’ve got the key and I’ve got to pee.” “We all need to pee – that’s why we’re in line,” I told her. “Well I’ve got to go bad and I’ve got the key. You have to have the key to pee. Bar rules,” she snapped back.

At this point, the petite Asian girl behind me couldn’t take anymore and started arguing with the woman. I intervened and offered to let her go in before me. She accepted this offer (and most likely would have gone next even if I hadn’t offered), and as she shut the door the Asian girl started to say, “What kind of person…” Her friend immediately cut her off, “Let it go. She is three times bigger than you.” Seconds later, the woman opened the bathroom door, handed me the key (which was now wrapped with wet paper towels – one of the reasons I didn’t want the key) and immediately started “talking” to the Asian girl with her hands while yelling at her with mouth, “What kind of person? What kind of person? You want to finish your sentence?” I took advantage of having the wet key and quickly entered the bathroom so I could both pee and avoid a beating.

When I exited, and didn’t see her there, I asked the two ladies, still patiently waiting in line, what happened. “The bartender told her to knock it off and then told us she is crazy.” “Speaking of crazy, the key is right there and, as you now know, bar rules – you’ve got to have the key to pee,” I told them while gesturing to the towel covered key on the sink. Next time, I’m keeping the key to myself.

CounterCat had a few things to finish, so we saddled up at the bar and enjoyed some of their house specialties – one of which is what we refer to as, “the bigger than your face margarita.”

As we imbibed, I noticed MiniMe was observing something with great admiration – herself in the mirror directly across from us. Thus, while others watched the games on TV, we watched ourselves.

“You like sitting where you can see yourself?” I asked her. “Yes,” she replied. “See this scar on my face?” I asked and gestured toward my right eye. “Which one?” she asked, not looking away from her reflection. “Which one? Really? This one,” I replied. “Oh, yes. That’s more of an indent than a scar,” she advised me.

As we continued to imbibe, I was observing the bartenders mix drinks. One of them was only wearing one glove and his zipper appeared to be down. “Wearing one glove doesn’t help matters,” I told MiniMe and added, “Just ask Michael Jackson. Or OJ, for that matter.”

Our bartender checked in and I alerted him to the zipper situation. “I tell him that all of the time. It is supposed to look like that,” he said while providing hand gestures for additional explanation, then said, “Bay Area Style.”

He then dumped a small Corona in MiniMe’s margarita and said, “Also Bay Area Style.”

Unlike That’s Not Chinese and I, these hood rats were clearly not part of a good walking gang. Thus, That’s Not Chinese put her years of watching Law and Order to work, and followed the suspects while I placed a call to police dispatch.

After hanging up with police dispatch, I dispatched the neighborhood posse. Creme Pour Le Femme immediately responded and, within minutes, was on the scene with another neighbor in tow.

Bitchin’ Camaro and Addly deployed their troops and offered surveillance as well as stoopside presence.

Within minutes of sensing trouble, our neighborhood posse’s presence was more than double.

It’s nice to know that I am 1) protected and 2) not the only person willing to stop crime – in and out of uniform.

As we walked, we observed all of the great things a city walk has to offer: a gate with a sign that read ‘Beware of Dog,’ and, to the right of it, a wee little Yorkshire Terrier paying no attention to the outside world; shops (we actually did a little shopping, but only because we believe in supporting our local businesses, not because we are easily swayed; stoops that we wanted to commandeer; and flowers that we did, in fact, commandeer.

With our flowers in our hair (I chose three roses and That’s Not Chinese chose two snowballs and one rose), we finished our walk. Once back at That’s Not Chinese’s house we sat on her adirondack chairs, enjoyed a glass (or two) of wine, and discussed agriculture. Mid parsley and rosemary comments, That’s Not Chinese advised, “You realize you’ve got bugs…..” Having had rose bushes in the past I knew exactly what the rest of her sentence would entail, thus, threw my head down, tossed out the roses, and shook my hair profusely. Just thinking about it now makes my head itch. “Those aren’t bugs,  they are aphids – plant lice, and I am not having any part of that,” I advised her and added, “This is why I do not have rose bushes.” “Can you imagine if you had that rose in your bush?” That’s Not Chinese said and then MLOLed. “Nice maniacal laugh. Muffuary is over. I shaved. One more reason I will not have a rose bush,” I replied.

After ploughing through a bottle of wine, I told her, “I’ve got to go, and not just because the wine is gone.” And just as quickly as the roses were out of my hair, I was outta there….until the next time when, sans aphid infested flowers in our hair, we divide, conquer and plough through our city.