Category: blog

While in Manhattan, I had the privilege of sharing the room with Sleepless, Ice Cream Man, Drizzler and File Not Found. Like the Waltons, we took the time to tell each other good night. Afterwards, File Not Found – who was still reeling from the Dyson dryer – whispered loudly, “No, Drizzler.” As if to imply she was trying to get busy. “Oh please,” she replied and added, “I took two Aleve and now you’re keeping me up.” “You’re doing the same thing to me,” File Not Found quipped.

 

As we giggled about this the next morning, I asked File Not Found, “What part of Aleve me alone do you not understand?” “I thought the two Aleve were to relieve – both the headache and me.” “No,” Drizzler firmly replied. “All I know is I haven’t giggled myself to sleep in a long time,” File Not Found informed us.

 

After taking some time to get going, we grabbed some coffees, day-old cupcakes and hopped in the car to head to the Hamptons. “Look,” Drizzler said to us and held up a large map, “We brought one of these.” “A map. Great,” I replied. “We got it at a phone booth,” File Not Found and added, “I think it’s an antique.”

 

Thanks to the antique map, Ice Cream Man’s iPad and File Not Found’s mad driving skills (expedited lessons provided by hot Monika), we arrived in the Hamptons with time to meet up with Skiwi and DDDG. “Watch for a dashing man in a white linen shirt and tan cargos,” Skiwi advised us. We did and ended up finding him rather quickly. After tooling around town for a bit we realized we really dropped the ball on our attire. Although the All Access Pass went with everything, we were missing one essential article of clothing: the shoulder sweater. “We really should have stopped at a second hand shop and picked up some sweaters so we could drape them over our shoulders,” Sleepless stated with great disappointment. “Next time,” I advised.

 

After an hour or so of tooling around Southampton – while donning our lanyards and sunglasses, of course – we decided to get back on the road and head to our resting spot for the next few days: East Hampton. We weren’t alone in our journey, thus, the traffic was thick. With less than 20 miles and more than one hour in traffic to go, we decided to stop at a vineyard for a tasting.

 

As soon as Skiwi learned we could buy 1.5 liters for $10 and enjoy them on the patio outside, we stopped tasting and begin imbibing. An hour later, we were back on the road and really ready for the Hamptons – with or without our sweaters!

While The Veronicas and their special guests were playing The Viper Room in West Hollywood, I was playing with my special guests in Manhattan. Destination: Cougar Room.

 

Wanting to ensure celebrity status throughout the town and weekend, Sleepless and Ice Cream Man made “All Access Passes,” complete with Entertainment Weekly 2004 and 2005 Sundance Film Festival lanyards. In addition, they provided me with stickers to give my special guests, for placement on their lanyard, each time they did something wonderful for me/my birthday.

 

As we walked toward our first stop, File Not Found was quite impressed with the attention the lanyards we’re garnering. “I can’t believe how much attention these get,” he told me. “Lanyards and sunglasses,” I confirmed and added, “Isn’t that right, Sleepless?” “Yep, sunglasses are important. They make people think you’re a celebrity,” Sleepless replied. “Yep. With both of these items, people may not know who we are, but they’ll definitely think we’re somebody,” I replied.

 

Our first pub stop was successful with quick service and a round of shots, courtesy of the pub owner, Charlie. With wet pallets and full bellies we made our way downtown, via streets and the subway, to find other pubs.

 

Once on the subway, Drizzler decided it might be a good idea to have everyone sing to me. So, as the doors on the subway car shut, she – like so many others on subways – attempted to get the attention of passengers. “Attention lovely and fellow New Yorkers. Today is my friend’s birthday and we would love it if you would join us in wishing her a happy birthday.” She then started singing and some of the passengers, most likely those who saw the lanyards and thought we were somebody, sang along. When it came to, “Happy Birthday dear…..” Drizzler looked at me and quickly whispered, “Oops, I probably should have told them your name.” This earned her a sticker.

 

Ice Cream Man wasn’t a fan of the singing. He likes songs, specifically Ice Cream by Andre Nickatina, but he wouldn’t blare it from a boombox on the subway. When, however, one of the passengers asked if I had a date for the evening, offered me money to hang out with him, and then attempted to give me a gift, I’m pretty sure Ice Cream Man was wishing we were still singing.

 

The gift the passenger wanted to give me was a birthday kiss. After much encouraging from Drizzler, I obliged. As is often the case with Drizzler, she wanted to take a candid picture. As is also often the case, it wasn’t really candid because she took the picture too late. “Could you do that again, please?” she asked us both. The saying is true, the third time is the charm and by the third kiss from this extremely sweaty and friendly subway patron, Drizzler finally got the ‘candid’ shot she had been wanting.

 

Once we exited the train, Sleepless immediately handed me hand sanitizer. “You should rub this on your lips,” she advised. I did and, like the diseases you get when you don’t use sanitizer or protection, it burned. Fortunately, it was a good burn and Carl didn’t surface to join me for the remainder of the trip – that would have been so last year. This act definitely earned her a sticker.

 

As we were walking toward Bleecker Street, File Not Found decided to check the storm tracker application on his phone. His desire to do so was sparked by the grey clouds looming above us. “I’m not sure which direction is South, but the storm is heading that way, see,” he said while showing us the weather map. At that exact time, the rain started pouring down. “Guess we know where South is now,” Ice Cream Man quipped. While taking refuge under a nearby awning, I gave File Not Found a sticker for his meteorology skills and we decided to take our chances in the rain. We ran a short distance before I noticed a familiar pub, “This place is good. Let’s go here,” I suggested and we all rushed into the pub. “Nobody rains on your parade,” Sleepless stated and giggled.

 

While at the Peculiar Pub, we asked our server about other bars and pubs. “If you want something edgy, you have to leave the island,” she advised. Sleepless and I weren’t sure what she meant exactly, but we think it might have something to do with Jersey.

 

We had a few rounds and danced to a few songs – “It’s all my lungs can do,” Drizzler advised Sleepless when asked why we stopped dancing – and then made our way back out to the streets to find more adventures.

 

Near Times Square, we found one of our favorite Irish pubs and enjoyed some drinks, Irish music and another round of shots. “I hate Jager,” I told Sleepless after finishing the shot. “Then why did you do it?” she asked. “I only did it because it was a birthday present – just like that kiss on the subway,” I replied. “Speaking of shots,” Ice Cream Man piped in, “Never order an Irish Car Bomb at a pub in Ireland.”

 

Even though we weren’t in Ireland, we opted against ordering Irish Car Bombs and made our way to the best and final destination. Ice Cream Man had been wanting to go there all night however, knowing last is often best, he only baited us with it until now.

 

We arrived at the lounge and were just about to sit down when a large man approached Ice Cream Man. We (Sleepless, Drizzler, File Not Found and I) thought for sure we were being kicked out. Especially when he advised us, “Grab your bags, let’s go.”

 

Fortunately, we were wrong and the opposite was true. With the help of our All Access Pass (and, more likely, a little bit of cash from Ice Cream Man), we were upgraded to the rooftop lounge of the Dream Hotel and had the privilege of enjoying one of the swankiest bars in Midtown Manhattan. While I was giving Ice Cream Man a sticker for his top of the line lounge work, File Not Found returned from the loo. “I just got a burst of energy. Must be the Dyson dryers,” File Not Found told us. He was quite impressed with the dryers and continued to recommend them to all of us throughout the night.

 

After several hours of raising our glasses and the non-existent roof, we got a cab ride from New York’s fastest and sexiest driver – Monika from Poland, and returned to the hotel in hopes that several hours in our beds would be like a few minutes with the Dyson dryer. Although I never cougared, with the help of my friends, my birthday was a roaring success.

If you are going to celebrate your birthday, I recommend doing it in style with your friends. Or, out of style with former friends – but, in my opinion, that is so last year.

 

I have the privilege of celebrating my birthweek with my friends, from everywhere, in Manhattan and the Hamptons. Being that we flew in on a redeye and didn’t sleep the entire flight, Sleepless and I were truly redeyed. Not wanting to let this get in the way of our festivities, we put on our sunglasses, dropped our luggage at the hotel and had breakfast at a diner known for (in my unofficial Zagat opinion) the best bacon in the city.

 

While at breakfast, we discussed our activities for the day. “Whatever we do, we should wear our sunglasses at all times. People will think we’re somebody,” I advised. “Good idea,” Sleepless stated while removing her glasses from atop her head and covering her famous eyes.

 

After breakfast, Ice Cream Man headed to a meeting and Sleepless and I headed to Central Park. Our plan: sleep. We found a lovely spot of lawn, sat down, and immediately had wet and grass-stained asses. “That didn’t go as planned,” Sleepless stated. We don’t easily give up and decided to continue to walk until we found a good sleeping spot, that wasn’t already occupied by families, weddings, business people, or homeless.

 

Being the princesses that we are, we found a nice couple of benches at the base of Belvedere Castle and took a lovely little catnap. There were a few times when it went a little third world – that would be the times flies were landing on us – but we stuck it out and, after an hour on a bench in the shade, we were ready to tackle the apple.

 

After castling and turtling, we decided we should return to the park in our workout clothes for a photo shoot. Nothing like a couple of pictures to make it look like you worked out at Central Park. “We definitely need a few of us stretching,” Sleepless advised.

 

Stretching, and yawning, is exactly what we did once we finally checked into the hotel. We can’t help it, we’re old. So, we took a nap – this time in beds – and were ready, instead of redeye, for NY!

Wanting to start our New York trip off right, Ice Cream Man made sure we had all of our amenities. Our plan was to start in the Sky Club and continue on with the imbibing once on the plane. Unfortunately, prior to going to the Sky Club, we couldn’t seem to find our flight among the featured “Departures.” Fortunately, another traveler found it for us and told us the gate we would need to go to for the departure – slotted to take place in 30 minutes.

 

We thanked the kind stranger for his assistance and started walking in the opposite direction of our gate. “You guys do realize ‘C’ gate is this way, right?” the kind stranger inquired. “Oh, yes, we just need to get a drink. Hopefully it will prevent further flight struggles,” I replied.

 

After a quick wine shot, we boarded the plane and took our seats. Sleepless and I sat in 27 E and F and Ice Cream Man sat in 28 F; despite the fact that 27 D was empty. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit by us?” Sleepless asked him. “No, I’m going to take two Klonopin and go to a meeting in the morning. Besides, that way you guys can stretch out.” “OK, well, you said you were going to take care of us, so may I please have your credit card?” Sleepless asked and he obliged.

 

About a half hour into the redeye flight, while everyone else was sleeping, Sleepless and I were ordering wine and snack packs. We had so much food and drink that we had to use all three trays. “Check out that spread,” Sleepless commented about the food. “Check out this spread,” I told her, pointed to my butt and added, “I’ve no doubt that is a direct result of spreads like this.”

 

Instead of sleeping, we ended up drinking, eating and chatting the whole flight. The flight attendant was very accommodating and, by the time we exited the plane, we had a slew of great photos (of us and other travelers), full bellies, and a relatively coherent Ice Cream Man. “How was the flight?” he asked us. “It was a pretty good time up here,” Sleepless told him. “Yep, this is where the party was at. This row was def!” I replied.

Aunt Winnie is in town visiting her kids and, for the second year in a row, joined my mom, sisters and I for my birthday dinner. Last year, we dined at Chili’s. This year, Applebee’s. Only the best for us. “I really like this little birthday celebration. I think I’ll come back next year too,” Aunt Winnie told us.  She then handed me a paper grocery bag and said, “Thanks for leaving that thank you note in my refrigerator. This isn’t a thank you note, but I think you’ll like it.” In the bag were two 5-pound packages of sugar. “Last year you said you wanted food storage,” she advised me and giggled.

 

I actually don’t recall asking for food storage, but it sounds like something I would say. Not because it is something I want, per say, but because it is something I don’t have. “I love this,” I told Aunt Winnie. “Hopefully I’ll get some canned corn too.” My sister then handed me a ‘green’ shopping bag and said, “You just might.” I opened this bag to find two packages of instant noodles, a can of beans, cream of chicken, diced tomatoes and SpaghettiOs. Turns out she was teasing me about the corn.

 

That’s alright. The other day, I teased Opreggano with a pregnant cob of corn I bought at the store. I thought it looked pregnant because it had a little wee corn growing on it’s side. Opreggano saw something different, “Isn’t it the year of the rabbit?” she asked as I shucked it in between my legs.  “Yes, it is. Good point,” I replied.

 

“Thank you for the food storage. I hope my shelf life is longer than theirs,” I told them. “Not me,” Aunt Winnie piped in. “We bought plots today. I’m ready to go. I really do not want to live to be 100.” “Well, you probably have a few more years. You are fresh and easy,” I told her. “Your mom is easy too,” she told me and added, “She also had seven kids.”

 

Although Aunt Winnie and my mom may be well beyond their ‘use by’ dates, like a product with an expired shelf life, they might be safe but their quality is not guaranteed. Luckily for all of us, shelf life is maximized by stock rotation. I best grab my ‘sugar’ and start rotating.

 

 

Smart Writer is once again doing smart things. He has paired up with a classmate for a road trip from Sutter Creek, California to New York City. The purpose: two former mormons hoping to see historic sites, learn about their ancestry and enjoy The Book of Mormon (musical).  His classmate/companion isn’t too excited about seeing the musical. Smart Writer thinks “it might be too soon for him.” “Oh, I get it,” I replied and added, “He’s not ready to face the music.”

 

Turns out Smart Writer and his companion don’t really know each other. Twenty days from now, when the road trip ends, they’ll know each other very well. I wouldn’t say they will know each other in a biblical sense, but I’ve no doubt they’ll know each other in a triple combo kind of way.

 

The companion is providing a car – a 1993 Geo Metro. I recommended Smart Writer find some lettering and add the word ‘sexual’ to the end. Two handsome men driving across country together – people may talk.

 

Smart Writer is pretty excited about this adventure and, two days in, has already had some interesting experiences. “I’m blogging about it,” he told me, “mormonroadtrip.com.” A blog seems like a good idea – especially with the recession, much less expensive than logging it on golden plates.

 

I’m looking forward to Smart Writer’s blog.  I’m really glad he told me the link and didn’t make me look for it deep in the mountainside somewhere.

 

I do hope he is able to get a reasonable answer to something I have pondered for years. My understanding is Jesus turned water into wine. I wouldn’t imagine that to be too easy. Thus, my question is this, “Why did the mormons turn the wine back into water?”

 

Perhaps, in his travels, Smart Writer will be able to find the answer to my burning (but not in the bosom) question. Regardless, he’ll have a super fun time.

After several drinks and a couple of rounds of Catch Phrase with Fine Girl, Big Hoops and Dirty Martini, it was determined I would be spending the night. “I’ve got a bed ready for you. Pajamas and all,” Fine Girl informed me. “Really? You won’t mind if I wake up early in the morning and sneak out like a one-night stand?” I asked. “Not at all,” Fine Girl replied. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Big Hoops quipped.

 

So, three hours after laying my head down to rest, I got up, drove home, parked in front of my house, and did the walk of shame from the street to my front door. Within seconds of arriving home, Opreggano was knocking at the front door. She noticed I was wearing the same thing I had on the day before and asked, “Did you just wake up?” “In a way. I actually just got home,” I told her.

 

We had big plans for a yard sale and had signs to hang and coffee to purchase prior to the 8 o’clock start time. “I say wear what you have on and let’s go,” she told me. Not wanting to mess with a pregnant woman, I agreed.

 

Once The Leaver arrived, we arranged our goods and took a seat on the stoop. Just before The Leaver sat down, I reached down and pulled out a few loose nails. “I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” I said to Opreggano. “Good idea. I have a bruise on my ass from sitting on one last week,” Opreggano informed me.

 

We were all sitting comfortably on the stoop when a customer posed a question. The Leaver jumped up to provide an answer and we heard a massive rip. I looked at the stoop, The Leaver looked at her shorts, and Opreggano looked at the stoop, the rip in The Leaver’s shorts and then at me. “Oops, looks like I missed a nail,” I replied and then pulled that nail out of the wood. “These are my best shorts,” The Leaver told us. “They’re ripped in the front too,” Opreggano told her. “I know and they’re still my best,” The Leaver replied.

 

A little while later, we were discussing our yard sale earnings. “Maybe you’ll have enough to buy a new pair of shorts,” Opreggano told The Leaver. “You guys, what happened to me? I used to be a world class athlete and never had to worry about money. I retired at 28,” The Leaver told us. “That might have been a bit premature,” Opreggano advised her. “I think you’re right. I may have to come out of retirement,” The Leaver replied.

 

Once we closed up shop, I met Wanted at the pool – still wearing the dress from the night before, this time as a swimsuit cover-up. After several hours poolside, we headed to her house, took showers and decided on plans for the evening. After much contemplation, we opted to stay in, drink wine and watch a movie.

 

Being that I hadn’t slept long the night before, I was a bit tired. We had plans for breakfast in the morning, so I ended up staying the night at her house.

 

In the morning, I brushed my teeth, gave my hair a good shake, put on some fresh deodorant, and got back in the dress I had worn Friday and Saturday. Although the dress I had worn the night before was both clean and cute, my boobs were wearing the hell out of it, so I gave it to Wanted.

 

Thus, I did the walk of shame in the same dress, different houses, two nights in a row. Bam!

Just when I think I’m going to have a slow Friday, one or more of my friends surprise me. This weekend, Fine Girl had family – Big Hoops and Dirty Martini – in town for a surprise party and invited me to join them at the ‘rehearsal party.’

 

Upon my arrival, Fine Girl immediately poured me a glass of wine. “Have I made you my skinny margarita?” she asked me. “No,” I replied. “Let me do that right now,” she said and so began the drink making.

 

Fine Girl plans to retire soon and is hoping to find a job at a nice bar, mixing drinks for a living. “You should move to a sailor town and change your name to Brandy,” I suggested. “You are a fine girl,” Big Hoops added.

 

“My boyfriend is a lot younger and he doesn’t know how old I am, so I always tell him, ‘I grew up in the 80s. I love the 80s.’ You know, bands like Journey, Foreigner….” Big Hoops told us. “Looking Glass,” I added while thinking to myself, “Pretty sure those are 70s groups, but good on her!”

 

Dirty Martini is not much of a drinker, however, when she saw Fine Girl shaking the martini shaker, she couldn’t resist. “Whoa, Dirty Martini is going to get drunk!” Big Hoops exclaimed. “Better watch it,” Dirty Martini advised Fine Girl’s beau and added, “It’s been twenty years since I’ve had some.” Fine Girl’s beau replied, “Dirty martini is just the name of the drink. It doesn’t make you dirty.”

 

“Speaking of dirty, did I tell you what happened to my daughter?” Dirty Martini asked us and continued, “She and her friends were all dressed up and walking down Hollywood Boulevard when some guys walked by and said, “We might have to get some of that gray beaver.” “Gray beaver!?!?” we all exclaimed. “Yes, gray beaver,” she confirmed. “That is exactly why I shave,” I informed them.

 

We decided to go outside and enjoy our drinks on the patio. Within seconds of being outside, Fine Girl went back in the house and then returned with mosquito spray. “Guess we better spray the gray,” I said to Big Hoops. “Jajajajajaja,” she replied.

 

Big Hoops has friends in Cuba and, instead of saying ‘hahahaha,’ they often say/type, ‘jajajajaja.’ We decided we like that concept and started doing the same the rest of the evening. Unfortunately, the mosquitoes were biting and bites, especially in the gray, are itchy, so we moved back into the house.

 

Big Hoops pulled out some of the jewelry she sells and was showing it to us. Dirty Martini was loving it and buying several items. “Keep her drinks coming,” Big Hoops told Fine Girl. While Fine Girl continued shaking (sometimes she would just shake her booty and forget to shake the shaker), Big Hoops pulled out a pair of big hoop earrings. “I just love big hoops. Don’t you just love big hoops? I mostly like them because I can put my ankles in them,” Big Hoops said while making a gesture to imply her legs were up and over her head.  “Jajajajajaja,” we all replied.

While working today, Opreggano provided me with some very important information, “I’ve got a bottle of wine that needs finishing. Stop by later if you want.” As I was on my way home, I phoned her to let her know I would stop by and she reminded me of the wine. “OK, well, I’ll just have one glass,” I responsibly replied.

 

I arrived at her house, she poured me a glass of wine, and poured herself a glass of lemonade. I was chatting with her for some time before I 1) took a drink and b) noticed the pour.  “Look at that pour! Did you put the entire bottle in that glass?” I asked her. “I told you I had a bottle of wine to finish and you said you only wanted one glass.”

 

A little while later she experienced a pregnancy craving. “I really want some mashed potatoes.” “Do you want me to drive you to get some?” I asked. “Please,” she kindly pleaded.

 

For some reason, once at the drive-thru, we decided to speak ‘robot.’ Actually, we had been speaking robot for some time, but it seemed even funnier at the drive-thru. Unfortunately, it also resulted in our order being screwed up. “I have a feeling those are going to be some salty mashed potatoes,” I told her. “Mmmm,” she replied.

 

While sitting at the pick-up window, an incessant bell kept sounding, “Is someone backing up in there?” I asked the employee (in robot, of course). “No,” she replied, “it just means you’ve been here too long.” I’m pretty sure Opreggano and I are going to invest in the bell, or something like that, for our homes.

 

We got back to Opreggano’s house, cracked open the potatoes, dumped on the gravy and our sporks began working overtime. “I love mashed potatoes,” Opreggano told me just before eating a lovely sporkful of delicious. “Me too, but I’m not sure being pregnant with you is going to work out for me,” I told her. “Hey, I drank wine with you,” she defended herself. “Right, but neither of us were pregnant. I’m going to get fat and you’ll still just be pregnant.” She responded, in robot, “Well. There. Is. That.”

 

Once I got home, I did as I always do,  sent her a text letting her know I was safe. She replied, “Only eight more months of being pregnant with me, but the robot is forever.”

Once again, I am trying to enhance my skill set by perfecting a language. I recently checked out every book, CD, and DVD the city libraries had in stock in an attempt to learn French. I purposely sought out instructional material for babies/toddlers/youth, because I think this may be more helpful.

 

Last night, I put on SING AND LEARN french! This CD/book combo is full of ‘songs and pictures to make learning fun!’ I’ve listened to it a few times and have tried to sing along. As always, I struggle with the non-pronunciation of the ‘n,’ ‘r,’ and ‘t’ at the end of many words. After about six songs with lyrics, the CD plays music only – no lyrics – with a house/disco/electro funk flare.

 

I decided to let the music play (thank you one-hit wonder, Shannon) and hit the hay or, as they probably don’t say in France, “frappé du foin.” MiniMe arrived at the house as I was doing so and asked about the music playing. “What is this?” “It’s a CD to help me learn French,” I told her. “What?” “It’s a CD to help me learn French,” I repeated. “But there are no words,” she said, clearly confused. “Pretty sure the messages are subliminal,” I replied. “Well, I really can’t understand what you are saying with that retainer in your mouth, so I highly doubt the French will understand you either,” she informed me. “I actually think the retainer will help my French. As you can hear, I have difficulty pronouncing the letters that, in French, are usually dropped, so, voilà. That word, voilà, totally French.”

 

“I really don’t know what you’re saying,” she stated and left the room. “Thorry, nex time I’ll thing. I find the thinging helps me learn,” I tried to communicate with her, but she is right, my retainer does seem to create a language barrier. On the plus side, my teeth are straight and it ‘pooks out my lips’ – which saves me from having to get injections.

 

“Bonne nuit,” I called out, and then hopped in bed and hoped the subliminal messages (which, directly “Google” translated is ‘messages subliminaux)’ worked.