Category: blog

A while back, I was sick. Estuve enfermo. Because I am a self-starter (don’t tell my boss, he doesn’t know), I still went to work. While there, I interacted with Muslimoi. He asked me questions about interacting with law enforcement and media. I, being a self-starter, gave him some advice. As a result, he offered to buy me a drink.

 

Several days, to be exact, one month later, I took him up on the offer. I arrived at the bar before him, after being ‘Occupied” by the Sacred Space activists and found that I had seated myself in the front row of a World Premiere Event where they were giving away great prizes. I decided to stay where I was and ordered a glass of white wine.

 

Eventually (to be specific, he was at least 30 minutes late), Muslimoi arrived. He entered the bar, didn’t see me, and went upstairs. Not wanting to win alone (studies show we all prefer a companion of some sort), I beckoned him to join me downstairs.

 

He did and when they starting giving away prizes, I totally Charlie Sheened. No, I didn’t start my own reality TV show or start drinking tiger blood – I don’t like to mix my drinks – rather, I won. Two tickets to a movie premiere, skiing and a movie. My dreams totally didn’t come true. I’m on a ‘date’ with a coworker, won tickets to a premiere that I can’t attend, and own a movie that no one will watch. Why, oh why, does Roger Whittaker not sponsor events? At least with him I’m guaranteeed good music and, if I’m lucky, a make-out (not with Roger, he’s married).

 

Anyway, I hung with Muslimoi for some time and then decided to head home. Aftewards, he sent me a text using some Spanish terms. My reply, “No hay de que.” I know a good reply when I see it. He followed up with a mooshy reply, implying he had been hanging with a true chicana, “a toda madre.” When I replied, “Si, señor,” he replied, “Que linda eres se?” and some other stuff that google translate didn’t really translate. My reply, “Si, señor. Muchos gracias.”

 

He then told me I knew as much Spanish as my “Spanish speaking” coworker who was hired as the diversity specialist. My reply, “Verdad.” His reply, “Word.” My reply (thank you Señor De La Cruz for being an amazing Spanish as a Second Language teacher), “Palabra.” I eventually threw a little “MDR” (French for LOL) into the mix and received a “Chavala loca,” reply. Crazy Chick?!? Really? OK. My reply, “Si, señor.” I can play this game as good or better than the rest of them, no hay de que!

As I was driving home from work I received a call from Fat Girl, “Come out with me to pinkdot. Support your gays!” “What? When?” I asked. “Tonight at 5:30,” he replied. “It’s 5:30 right now and I’ve got to mow the lawn.” “Mow your lawn later.” “OK,” I agreed – I have such a hard time saying no.

 

We arrived at the event just as they formed the pinkdot and released the pink balloons into the air. “Great. We missed it,” Fat Girl said with disappointment. “It’s still going on, let’s mingle,” I advised. Fat Girl introduced me to some of his friends who asked why he hadn’t been to the clubs lately. “I don’t really get out much,” he told them. “Are you kidding me? You are one of the outtest guys I know,” I replied. “I know,” he giggled.

 

Dr. BJ soon joined us, however, since Fat Girl could not realistically come out any more than he already had, we all decided to leave. “I’m heading to Passed The Sniff Test’s house for a beer. Join me?” Dr. BJ asked us. “OK,” I agreed (remember, I have a hard time saying no) and asked, “Do you have beer that you’re taking over?” “No, I’m drinking his beer. He told me to stop by for a beer,” Dr. BJ replied. “We have to take beer. You can’t just stop by to knowingly drink at someone’s house and not take something. Trust me, I know, I took an etiquette class with Opreggano and BioMom. Look, we’re in the hood near the Mav, let’s go in and at least buy some forties,” I advised.

 

Unfortunately, we weren’t as ‘hood’ as we thought – they didn’t have any forties. Instead, Dr. BJ agreed to buy a six-pack and we made our way to Passed The Sniff Test’s house. It took Fat Girl and I a while to get there, mostly because neither of us seemed to know where we were or where we were going – proof that we don’t get ‘out’ too often. By the time we found a parking spot we decided against walking down to the crosswalk. “Let’s just jaywalk,” Fat Girl suggested. “Not tonight. Tonight, it’s gaywalking,” I told him. “You’re right, we’re out, we should do this all over town,” Fat Girl suggested. “OK, but I’m not out, just about,” I reminded him.

A friend of She’s An Angel’s happened to be in town, so while Not So Little Man, Super Fun and I tooled around town visiting friends and family, She’s An Angel went to dinner with her friend.

 

As it got later, I asked Not So Little Man if She’s An Angel was planning on staying with her friend overnight. He didn’t know. “Did she say what time she would be back?” I asked. No. She’s An Angel eventually called to check in with Not So Little Man and told her she was going to hang out with her friend a little longer and would be coming home. “Looks like she’s decided to have dessert,” Not So Little Man told Super Fun and I as he hung up the phone. “Nice upsell on his part,” I replied. “Literally,” Super Fun quipped.

 

Like a salesman trying to make commission, we continued with the one-liners. “My grandma says she is going to take him around town tomorrow,” Not So Little Man said. “Town?” I asked. “That’s what her boyfriend calls her, ‘town,'” said Super Fun. “Oh, wait, I think he meant to say he was going to go to town or go downtown,” Not So Little Man added.

 

By now, Q had joined the group and was new to the banter. “You’re talking about your grandma, right?” “Yep,” Not So Little Man proudly answered and added,  “We should be seeing her shortly. I’ve got a feeling they’re closing the deal now if they haven’t done so already.”

While visiting BeCuz, her son invited us to play a few games of BINGO. As the host of the game, he decided to be the Caller (the person who calls out the BINGO numbers), and provide us a pleasant BINGO experience by preparing drinks. “Does everyone like Sunny-D?” he shouted out to us. We all stated ‘yes,’ and knew right away this was going to be quite the game.

 

As we entered the front room, we found that in addition to having our names on our glasses of Sunny-D, Caller had assigned seating for all of us. It quickly became clear that Caller was very familiar with the rules of BINGO. As he stirred the balls in the cage and called out several numbers, the majority of us still only had the ‘FREE’ space marked. “I think we’ve got a bad batch of balls,” I advised him. “These balls aren’t bad, they’re just tiny,” Caller replied. “Speaking of tiny balls, remind me to show you something later,” BeCuz told me.

 

“Awkward,” Not So Little Man stated. “Like our family photo,” Super Fun interjected. “Are we playing TMI or BINGO?” I asked. “BINGO!” Caller replied and added, “It’s fun!” “You know what, I’ll just show you what I was talking about now,” BeCuz advised me. “There are kids here,” I reminded BeCuz. “Right,” she said while finishing off her Sunny-D and turning on the TV. It was at this time that I wished for a blackout – both on my BINGO card and the TV.

 

With Not So Little Man and Super Fun in town, we decided to hold a get together at my house. As the day progressed, more people ended up becoming part of the get together. When people would call or stop by, I would invite them to join us. One of those people was Fat Girl.

 

He called wanting to go to dinner, so I told told him I was having a few people over for dinner and he should join us. “I don’t want to crash your dinner party,” Fat Girl told me. “It’s not a dinner party. It’s just a bunch of people getting together for dinner. Totally different,” I advised him. “I don’t know,” he said with hesitation. “It is not a dinner party. Very informal. I’ve got wine,” I assured him. Within seconds of hanging up with him, he was at the door.

 

Once the others (ROFL and his family) started arriving, and he had done a 8-oz wine shot, Fat Girl decided to do his own thing for dinner and left the get together as quickly as he arrived.

 

After we ate, we decided to play Boggle. The Leaver set strict rules for those of us who had ‘experience’ playing, “No three-letter words and no adding ‘s’ to the end of a word.” Seemed fair – I planned to find plenty of two-letter words and, if I didn’t find four-letter words, I would say them. For example, “More wine?”

 

Not So Little Man was in the ‘experienced’ mix and was doing a good job avoiding amateur words. Like The Leaver, there were a few words we needed him to use in a sentence. Also like The Leaver, many of these words turned out to be non-words. Until ‘snuff.’ “How do you know about snuff?” I asked. “We learned about it in drama,” Not So Little Man told us. “So, what is it?” Bruiser questioned Not So Little Man. “It’s a movie where people really die – it’s not acting,” Not So Little Man told us. “Yeah, but the people watching don’t always know,” Super Fun added. “I can’t believe you know this,” The Leaver said in shock and added, “You’re going back to public school.”

 

“‘Snuff’ is a five pointer,” I reminded Not So Little Man as he tallied his score. “No way,” he said excitedly. “No way you’re going back to that charter school,” The Leaver quipped.

Not So Little Man came into town for the weekend with his grandma, Angel, and cousin, Super Fun. While his grandma attended a work training, Not So Little Man and Super Fun participated in a photo and video shoot for our office’s website.

 

The shoot took place in a defunct production studio equipped with green screen, props, turntables and boxes of great LPs. While I was in heaven acting as DJ, Not So Little Man and Super Fun were in heaven modeling and acting.

 

ROFL and The Leaver were the key photo/videographers and were quite impressed with how easily Not So Little Man and Super Fun worked with the camera and each other. “You guys are naturals,” ROFL told them. “Are you dating each other?” The Leaver asked. “No, we’re cousins,” Super Fun replied. “Cousins? Really?” ROFL asked, surprised. “Yeah, but I still plan to be her cusband some day,” Not So Little Man told them.

 

Both ROFL and The Leaver looked stunned. I was proper impressed, “That was a good one. Did you make that up?” “No, I wish,” Not So Little Man giggled. “Doesn’t matter,” I told him. “The delivery was perfect.”

 

Fortunately, like the delivery, the photos and videos shot were also perfect. Thus, Not So Little Man and Super Fun won’t have to make their big break on The Jerry Springer Show, in the episode titled, ‘Kissing Cousins: I Now Pronounce You Cusband and Wife.’

According to five years of research by the people at Urban Cougar, cougars have some common characteristics that make them stand out. Those characteristics are:

• In control
• Independent
• Experienced
• Undeniably sexy
• Likes the attention

The cougs I know definitely seem to embody all of these characteristics. There does appear, however, to be an additional characteristic that Urban Cougar missed: trusting.

 

So, while we were independently tearing up the stage and dance floor, controlling the crowd with our incredible karaoke experience, soaking up the attention we were getting for our undeniable sexuality, and totally trusting the songs in the queue would be cougar related, we weren’t expecting the sobering news shared with us by KJ.

 

“Jazz Hands passed.” “He what?” I asked. “He passed. Died,”younger than us KJ replied. “How?” “Nobody really knows – there are a couple of rumors going around.” Sleepless and I were devastated. The night we met Jazz Hands he entered the bar, found the karaoke book, and immediately begin writing down requests.  We quickly learned that Jazz Hands was unique because he was covered with tattoos, sweet, loved karaoke and his signature dance move was ‘jazz hands.’ If we were on stage it would not be uncommon for him to make eye contact with us and encourage the jazz hands move.

 

Shocked by Jazz Hands’ unexpected death, the next day I did a photo tribute to him on facebook. Several people replied, including GiddyUp, “I miss him….he is now a gold miner in Nevada.” Jazz Hands was in the mining trade, so I assumed that was her way of saying he was buried in a gold mine somewhere. You know what they say about assuming – neither does George W. Bush.

 

GiddyUp advised me the information KJ shared with me was, in fact, untrue. Our little mining, jazz handing, German friend is actually lebendig! I immediately shared this information with Sleepless, “So, guess what. Jazz Hands isn’t dead.” She responded the same way we did when we trustingly believed KJ’s statement that Jazz Hands was dead, “What?!?!”

 

L.I.P. Jazz Hands!

 

 

CougarOke – in many ways, it needs no further explanation. Sleepless and I are fans of themed karaoke nights and, being that this one didn’t even require a ‘costume change,’ we were excited to finally celebrate this fine new ‘trend’ on stage, belting out some of the best Cougar songs ever written.

 

When Passed The Sniff Test (who is younger than me) and I arrived at the bar, we found it pretty empty. Although this is a typical scenario for this bar, we were hoping to find Sleepless and Ice Cream Man. “If you want we could go outside and you could walk the streets, maybe make some cash, until they get here,” Passed The Sniff Test suggested. “If they aren’t here in five, we may do that,” I replied. Even though I wasn’t donning my Heather Grays, I had a pretty good get-up going on. My off-the-shoulder shirt, animal print skirt, matching high heeled boots, gold sequined Wonder Woman belt, and big, shiny, platinum blonde wig screamed “Cougar;’ much like a Cougar having sex with her prey or vice versa.

 

Fortunately, Sleepless and Ice Cream Man soon arrived and the singing began. With a request list that included Stacy’s Mom, Mrs. Robinson, American Woman, That Summer, Maneater, Hot for Teacher, Maggie May, Your Love, and Carry On My Wayward Son, there was nothing that could stop us. Except, of course, hot flashes. When the hot flashes hit, I pulled the paper plates out of my purse (Cougars are well versed in preparedness), we used them like fans, and cooled down right quick.

 

One And Done eventually arrived with her prey and as I was hugging her I noticed she smelled exceptionally nice. “Is that Jean Naté?” I asked. “What is that?” she replied. “One of the finest body splashes and fragrances a Cougar can get at Walmart, CVS and the like,” I advised her. Like the actual cougar, my sense of smell isn’t too good. “Maybe I’m getting it confused with Windsong by Prince Matchabelli,” I thought to myself.

 

Also like the actual cougar, most of us ladies are crepuscular – primarily active during dusk and dawn. This is for a variety of reasons – we have jobs, we sleep in, and the lighting is better for us at those hours. After leaping around the dance floor, we sat down to chat with Passed The Sniff Test. We were discussing the importance of checking one’s heart rate when I advised him I might start checking my heart rate during sex. “Nothing sexier than stopping to check your pulse when you’re having sex,” Sleepless quipped. “I think the addition of adult devices, like the CPAP machine are also pretty sexy. Charley horses and leg numbness, not so much,” I added.

 

It was about this time that I noticed the smell again. Being that One And Done had been ruled out and I knew the others weren’t wearing fancy splashes or fragrances, I assessed my own situation and realized it was my wig. Who knew synthetic hair smells like Jean Naté? What a splash!

 

The other day, while sharing a ‘work’ story with That’s Not Chinese and Alice, I felt compelled to share a small but important detail with them, “I was wearing a Heather Gray sweatsuit. You know, when Heather Gray was cool.” “Heather Gray?” Alice asked. “Yes. Don’t act like you don’t remember. You remember? Right?” I asked That’s Not Chinese. “Yes, yes, I remember,” That’s Not Chinese told me and added, “You know what Wee One says about sweatpants.” We used to work with a mean petite woman, who we started calling ‘Wee One’ so that we could discuss her while she was standing in front of us – nobody likes a backstabber – and she believed if you wore sweatpants you would inevitably become fat. Although her theory might be accurate, weight was not her problem.

 

All of this talk about sweatsuits really made me wish I still had my Heather Grays. I did a Google search and found “Vintage 80s Hanes Crew Neck Pullover Sweat Shirt L LARGE, $48.99.” There are a couple of things wrong here: 1) Vintage? 2) $48.99?  3) Vintage? Really? A little more research and I found, “Weight Loss Guide including grey sweat suit set.” Take that Wee One! Then, a 1991 quote from David Robinson, retired center for the San Antonio Spurs, “There’s nothing cooler than being safe, including loungin’ in a heather gray sweatsuit, which is super cool.” Agreed.

 

A few days later, a friend made a sweatsuit reference on facebook, “Well kids, I wore my sweat suit yesterday expecting everyone to think I really looked cool. My family just laughed when I asked if I looked cool. My wife told me that the only cool thing about it was that it covered my body. What ever happened to looking cool in a sweat suit??”

 

Shit’s still cool. Nelly sang about it in 2004 and one of the most stylish New Yorkers, Amy Odell, owns a pair – designed by Alexander Wang. As Amy said in 2010, “A fashionable person loves nothing more than knowing this is what separates them from the masses. And that is why sweats are here to stay.” Forget the ‘when’ and the ‘was,’ Heather Gray is cool.

 

Skiwi has a friend in from out of town – who flew in from New Zealand for work-related training and expensive telephone conversations – and, in proper ‘good host’ fashion, Skiwi planned several events for him.

 

While staying at what many would consider a prime or choice hotel, he phoned home each day. He knew it would be expensive and stayed within his 15-minute limit – which is a long time for some people, so he was very surprised to find his long distance phone calls were $30 per minute.  “Are you sure you weren’t calling a 900 number?” Sleepless asked. “Yes. I was phoning home,” $30/Minute told her. “You should have watched porn for that price,” Sleepless advised him. “You should have just flown home and had the conversation in person. It would have cost the same,” Ice Cream Man advised. Always so practical. Even in times like these, Ice Cream Man doesn’t melt under pressure.

 

Although $30/Minute had only been in town a few days, Skiwi was jonesin’ for some lovin’ with DDDG and had no qualms about letting everyone know. “Unlike these two,” Skiwi said while gesturing toward Ice Cream Man and Sleepless, “DDDG doesn’t like to get busy when we have guests. I plan to tend to her needs as soon as I drop him ($30/Minute) off at the airport,” Skiwi told us. “I plan to extend my stay,” $30/Minute told Skiwi. “No. No you don’t,” Skiwi firmly replied. “I can leave for five minutes if you’d like,” $30/Minute offered to Skiwi and then said to me, “Actually, I’ll probably only need to leave for three minutes – during which time they can have sex twice.”

 

If anyone would know anything about minutes, it would be $30/Minute, and he continued to provide us details about his stay with Skiwi and DDDG, “Pretty sure Skiwi was having a toss earlier.” “A what?” Ice Cream asked and added, “Sorry, I don’t speak Kiwi.”  “A toss,” $30/Minute repeated. “Oh, toss,” Ice Cream Man repeated. He may n0t speak Kiwi, but there is no toss up over the term ‘toss.’ That is one term that can be learned for less than $30 per minute – regardless of the continent.