Category: blog

Oreggano and Cream Of Tartar have had enough of city living and are working towards having a home in the country. In preparation, they have decided to paint their house.

 

I offered to help and, in exchange, Oreggano offered me brunch. As we were sipping our mimosas, One Of Them Boys – her friend from the country – stopped by to drop off melons and trinkets. Like a good hostess, Oreggano offered him a mimosa and then advised me of a simple detail, “He’s got a rooster in the passenger seat of his truck.” “Are you serious?” I asked while grabbing my camera. “Yep, he’s in a cardboard box,” Oreggano proudly confirmed.

 

Apparently some of One Of Them Boys’ city friends bought chickens and later realized one was a rooster. As a result, One Of Them Boys was now the proud owner of Mable. Mable stayed in his box for some time, however, eventually got restless and started flitting around the cab of the truck. Anxious to get back to the country and introduce Mable to the other birds, One Of Them Boys bid us farewell and started to get back in the truck. By this time, Mable had returned to  his cardboard box, but had left a gift of sorts for One Of Them Boys. “Oh geez. He shit on my wallet,” he calmly told us while trying to shake the shit off the wallet. The shaking appeared to work and he got in the truck and headed back to the country with sweet Mable by his side.

 

Then, with me by her side, Oreggano began painting her house so that she too could one day experience the joy of living in the country and driving a truck with a rooster in the passenger seat.

 

 

Passed The Sniff Test decided to host a volleyball/barbeque party at his house. There is a park within walking distance, so that is where he set up the volleyball net. Oreggano and I walked over from her house to find them (him, Dr. BJ, Skirt Chaser and Not Skirt Chaser) already involved in a game. “Hey, join in the game. But you probably don’t want to take off your shoes,” advised Not Skirt Chaser while looking down at the sand. “Yeah, you definitely don’t want to step on a hypodermic needle,” Dr. BJ agreed. So began the joys of sports in an inner city park.

 

With each serve, Not Skirt Chaser would call out, “Service.” And, with each call out of ‘service,’ Dr. BJ would giggle and say, “That sounds so naughty. I wanna be served.” A few services into the game, Oreggano was talking with Passed The Sniff Test and Dr. BJ about needle pokes, but being on the other side of the net, we only heard this part of the conversation, “One poke, five pokes. Once you’ve been poked the other pokes don’t matter.” Not Skirt Chaser again called out, “Service.” It is true. When you’re being served, it is important not to focus on the number of pokes – it just creates angst.

 

Once we made it to Passed The Sniff Test’s house, we sat on the porch and had a couple of beers. Being at home, Passed The Sniff Test was sitting back comfortably in his chair with his legs wide open. “You have a major hole in the crotch of your shorts,” I advised him. Everyone’s eyes went straight to his crotch and he replied, “I hope you can see my nuts.” Dr. BJ immediately grabbed the camera. Passed The Sniff Test went in the house to change and, while doing so, opted to press his bare ass against the window. The camera was clicking away. When he returned to the porch, Dr. BJ questioned him. “A nut shot and a squirrel shot. What is going on?” “I’m a squirrel, what can I say?” Passed The Sniff Test replied.

 

Dr. BJ and I had placed our chairs on what was once lawn (and now appeared to be hay) and were reminiscing about our time as roommates, “Things were a lot simpler when we were roommates,” he kept telling me. “One of us needs to rent out our house and then we can move in together again.” Like many who smoke, Dr. BJ was experiencing some angst and wanted to smoke a cigarette. Unfortunately, he also had angst about smoking on the lawn. “I’m going to go out there (city sidewalk) and smoke. I’m afraid doing so here is a smoking hazard.” And with that, he stood on the sidewalk and smoked while leaning over the fence to hold his beer in an attempt to avoid an open container ticket.

 

Luckily, he avoided a citation and returned to the yard around the same time another guest arrived – with children. Based on the party participants and events leading up to this moment, having children at the party may not have been the best idea. Bitchin’ Camaro, however, is skilled in the art of crowd control and has been a girl scout leader for over a decade, so she managed to keep the little girl’s attention on other things. Until, the little one decided to step on the grass. “What is this?” the little girl asked about that which was touching her bare feet. “That is grass, but it is usually green and alive,” Bitchin’ Camaro advised her.

 

A few minutes later, I sat uncomfortably in my chair. Continually moving from side to side in an attempt to relieve some burning and itching I was experiencing. Don’t be crude in your thoughts – the burning and itching was taking place on my thighs. Being an observant city dweller, Oreggano noticed my apparent discomfort. “What’s going on? Are you ready to go?” “Yes, but that’s not why I’m moving around like this. I feel like I’m getting bit.” Sure enough, an ant had made it’s way to my chair, was gnawing on my thighs, and making it’s way to France (also known as my ass). “I’ve got ants in my pants. We’ve got to go,” I announced.

 

We walked back to Oreggano’s, however, the itching and burning didn’t subside. In addition, I now had complete angst about the ants. I felt like they were all over my body and I felt compelled to scratch everywhere. In an attempt to remedy my angst and the ants, I took an antihistamine, hopped in the shower, and rejoined Oreggano on the porch, sans pants. “Sorry,” I told her, “I couldn’t bring myself to put my shorts back on. Hope you like France.”

 

 

Sometimes, usually Sunday thru Saturday, I think I am more important than I really am. Here’s the thing, if I don’t think I’m ‘all that,’ why would anyone else think it?

 

Last night, after Tree did cartwheels to the pub and I bought a front door (that I’ll never use) out of the bed of some strange guy’s truck, we found ourselves waiting in a line.

 

“What is this shit?” I asked D-Dog and Tree. “I’m not a fan of lines,” Tree said. “Me neither. Especially when wanting to get into a bar. I haven’t waited in line like this since the late 1900s,” I told them.  Sleepless and Ice Cream Man were about three people in front of us and had just been let in the bar. “Bar is closed for now,” the bouncer told everyone waiting in line, while I was leaving a message for the strange guy about my newly acquired front door. “What did he just say?” I asked. “Bar is closed. They’re not letting anyone else in for now,” D-Dog told me.

 

We opted to leave the line and go to my house for food and Just Dance – no waiting for either. The next morning, I noticed I had a message from Sleepless, apologizing for what happened at the pub. “That line was not her fault,” I told Tree. “She really doesn’t need to apologize for things she can’t control and didn’t do.” “No kidding,” Tree replied and added, “She needs to read our book, ‘Bitch and Asshole.'” “I like the title. Oreggano may want to co-author,” I advised him. “That’s fine. I know she’ll be a good contributor,” he stated. I was thinking about telling Oreggano the plan, but I didn’t want to hear her bitch about only being a co-author.

 

 

 

Ice Cream Man celebrated his birthday and, in perfect birthday fashion, held an open house so everyone could celebrate with him. Tree and I were some of the first guests to arrive and were kindly greeted by Sleepless.

 

Within minutes, several other people had joined in the festivities and Tree and I found a little nook that provided us privacy and close proximity to the drinks and food. I had a made a little bruschetta bun topped with proscuitto and, as I was biting into it,  noticed Tree was using a fork. “You’re using a fork to eat?” I asked him, with my mouth full. “Yes,” he replied. “Interesting,” I replied. “Most people do this. Manners. You should try them some time.” “I’m more of a ‘Mermaids’ Mrs. Flax kind of a girl – finger foods are my preferred food group,” I told him.

 

We had been at the party for a couple of hours when we realized we had stayed in the same corner the whole time. “We’re not very social. In the corner, like Baby,” Tree commented. It was about this time that D-Dog joined us, in the corner. I advised D-Dog that this was, unofficially, our corner and Tree poured her a beverage.

 

With our beverages refreshed, we left our corner and headed to the outdoor concert taking place a few blocks away. We were about halfway there when we decided to relax on the grass and finish our drinks. As we were doing so, we noticed a ‘shiny object’ and, like kids running after the ice cream man (not to be confused with the Ice Cream Man), we quickly got up and tried to find where the shiny object went.

 

Sadly, we were unsuccessful in our attempt. We did, however, stumble upon something even better – a corner apartment patio with four empty chairs. Thus, we once again got sidetracked as we invited ourselves to rest upon the chairs, drink our beverages, and chat with the passersby. We had been there about ten minutes when a couple rode up on bicycles and appeared to be dumbfounded by our presence. “Do you live here?” I asked. “No, but our friends do,” they replied. “Huh. I don’t think they’re home,” I told them. Sadly, they didn’t pull a Johnny Castle, tell us “Nobody puts baby in the corner,” pull us from ‘our’ chairs, and take us to the concert stage where the show was already in progress.

 

Alas, we finished our drinks and headed to the park in hopes of finding a nice corner in which to enjoy the concert. which had been in progress for some time. All in all, it was a good night. I wouldn’t say I had the time of my life, but it was definitely better than Penny Johnson’s blundered backstreet abortion.

MiniMe has a lot of parents. Just when she thinks she has met them all, she meets more. Cream Of Tartar is one of the parents who takes his job very seriously.

 

When he learned MiniMe was dating Striker, he was a bit upset that he had not yet met him and been given the opportunity to approve. Thus, Oreggano and I arranged for them to stop by the house.

 

As they were on their way, Cream Of Tartar informed us he planned to have some serious discussions with the young chap. “Do you think I should be cleaning my shotgun when they pull up?” he asked us. “Definitely,” Oreggano advised and added, “It sends a very clear message.” Cream Of Tartar set up a table and began cleaning his shotgun on the porch. “You should probably be drinking whiskey while doing that,” I suggested. “Good idea. Jameson it is,” Cream Of Tartar stated as he put a large bottle of Jameson on the table with his gun. “I’d kind of like to rack a few right when they walk up, but I don’t want the cops involved.” “Probably best not to do that,” I advised.

 

As MiniMe and Striker approached the porch, Cream Of Tartar greeted them as if cleaning his shotgun on the porch while drinking whiskey (and wine) was standard operating procedure. They had only been there about a minute when Oreggano reminded him of his obligation as a parent, “Didn’t you have something you wanted to talk to them about?” “Oh, yeah, that’s right. Guys, it’s time we had the sex talk,” Cream Of Tartar advised them.

 

While Oreggano and I tried to suppress our giggles, Cream Of Tartar continued to assert his authority. “Look, this talk is just as tough for me as it is for you,” he told them. He then went on to talk about ‘protection.’ “Talking about protection isn’t scary. You know what’s scary? Going to the doctor and finding out the diseases you’ve got because you didn’t use protection. Now that is scary.”

 

Once it was clear they were picking up what he was laying down, Cream Of Tartar told Striker, “It really is nice to meet you. I hate to have to be stern but, well, it’s my job and we had to have the sex talk.”

 

And with that, he put the shotgun away, Oreggano and I burst out in laughter, the raccoons distracted us, and we were on to a totally different adventure.

 

MyFace got a new job and she is very busy. So busy, in fact, that we have had to reschedule multiple get togethers over the last few months. Thus, when she suggested we get together for happy hour, we all made sure we were there because we needed our MyFace fill.

 

And fill we got. We were discussing a movie (It’s Complicated) we watched while at the 55+ community we often frequent and MyFace was trying to recall the characters. “Susan Sarandon and Jack Nicklaus were great in that movie.” “Do you mean Jack Nicholson?” I asked. “They weren’t in that movie,” That’s Not Chinese advised. I was waiting for her to tell us they weren’t Chinese, but MyFace continued on. “Oh, yes, Jack Nicholson. Yes, yes, they were. Keanu Reeves is in it and her daughter dates him and then she dates him.” “That is a different movie,” That’s Not Chinese continued to correct MyFace. “Maybe it was Diane Keaton,” MyFace told us. “No, I think you are thinking of Alec Baldwin and Meryl Streep,” That’s Not Chinese advised while Sleepless giggled.

 

MyFace turned to Sleepless and said, “Look it up on your smartphone. Mine has a low battery. That’s what happens when you use it all of the time.” “So I’ve heard,” Sleepless quipped and I added, “It is the year of the rabbit.”

 

Sleepless confirmed the actors in It’s Complicated and then advised us that the movie starring Keanu Reeves, Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton was Something’s Gotta Give.

 

“Oh, yes, that’s right. It was Jeff Baldwin and Meryl Streep in It’s Complicated,” MyFace replied. “Not Jeff, Alec,” That’s Not Chinese corrected her. “OK, Alec Baldwin and Meryl Streep in It’s Complicated and Jack Jack Nicholson and Diane Lane in Something’s Gotta Give.” “Diane Keaton,” That’s Not Chinese advised her. “Who’s on first?” I asked That’s Not Chinese. “It’s complicated,” Sleepless replied.

When Sleepless invited Oreggano and I to join her and Ice Cream Man for a boating adventure, we grabbed our SPF 50 and nearly knocked each other over getting out the door.

 

It’s been pretty hot as of late and we’ve been trying to drink a bit more water, so we both decided we were only going to drink water while boating. Once in the water and away from the dock, Ice Cream Man stopped the boat and asked Sleepless to conjure up some drinks for everyone. “What do you want?” she asked us. “We’ve got vodka, soda, wine….” Oreggano and I looked at each other, then at our water bottles, and then I told her Sleepless I’d take some vodka and Oreggano opted for the bottle (yes, the entire bottle) of Chardonnay. “Now that we’ve got our cocktails, let’s head to the swinger section of the reservoir,” Ice Cream Man suggested. “Wait, what?” Oreggano asked. “Yes, what?!?!” I repeated her question for emphasis. “Do the swingers really have a ‘spot’ here?” “Yep,” Sleepless confirmed. “Yeah, it’s all of the people from Treehouse,” Ice Cream Man informed us. Oreggano and I made eye contact, raised our fists and did the “Bam!” Bam, Right!?!? would be so proud.

 

Sadly, we never found the swingers. “It’s too bad really. We would have fit right in,” Oreggano told Ice Cream Man, “One man, three women. It’s pretty obvious you’re either a swinger or a polygamist.” “Or a pioneer,” Sleepless added, “It is pio-beer weekend.” It was about this time that we were approached by who we assumed were a gay couple on a nice Sunday boat ride. Unfortunately, we were wrong. It was two undercover cops and they were interested in what was in our cups. We learned a valuable lesson that day. We need to have a decoy cup or two on deck at all times. “Maybe one that reads, ‘For the police’ and another one that reads, ‘Not for the police,'” suggested Ice Cream Man. He then said to Oreggano and I, “I’m not sure if you two work out or not…..” “You’re not sure? Did you hear this?” Oreggano asked me. “Yes, I heard it.” “I knew when it came out of my mouth that I was saying it wrong. I was just wondering if you listen to music when you work out and, if you do, what you like to listen to,” Ice Cream Man tried to explain. “We are wearing bikinis and our bodies are very visible and you ask that question. Unbelievable,” Oreggano told him.

 

Also unbelievable was the fact that later that evening Wanted and I were sitting in VIP lawn seats for the Steve Miller Band concert. Even better, the concert was free. Although the show was sold out, several of the seats around us were empty. “I kind of like the fact that nobody is directly around us,” Wanted told me. “Yes, it is nice,” I replied and added, “but it does make it very difficult to drink other people’s wine if there isn’t anyone seated right next to you.” Probably best.

 

A few seconds later, a man and his wife sat in the seats next to Wanted and the man gave Wanted a glass of wine. “Nice work,” I congratulated her. When her glass was empty, he filled it up again. “I’m really impressed with your wine skills,” I advised her. “Now I just wish he would give me his brownie,” Wanted told me. It was as if he could hear our whispering because, not even a minute later, he threw the brownie in Wanted’s lap. So, we danced, danced, danced, and then ate the brownie and ran. Destination: Swingtown.

Like Sleepless and I, One And Done loves an opportunity to dress up. Throw in an 80s theme, and she’ll cream her acid washed jeans.

 

That said, when One And Done got invited to an 80s theme party, she immediately invited us and we immediately began preparing. We went shopping for some retro clothes and quickly came to the conclusion that there was no need to buy anything new or gently used because we had all we needed in our closets.

 

As we started to get ready, I couldn’t believe how long it was taking to crimp my hair. “I seriously do not know how people were on time to anything in the 80s,” I told Sleepless. About an hour later we were ready to go  – until I looked in the mirror, “I just need a little more hairspray.” “I love that,” Sleepless replied.

 

When we made it to our destination the doorman immediately pointed us in the direction of the rest of the 80s clan, specifically One And Done. As is often the case, we were the only people dressed up for the ‘theme party.’ A few songs later we headed to a new destination where we knew our mini skirts, off the shoulder shirts and Body Glove dress from Contempo Casuals would be in good company. Or, Bad Company, should the 80s cover band chose to sing one of their songs – preferably ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love.’

 

By the time they were done with their set, one of the patrons had worked up the courage to approach Sleepless. “I’m single, I don’t have any kids and I’m not gay.” “Wow,” Sleepless replied and he continued. “I make eighty grand a year.” “Do you live with your parents?” I asked him. “No, and you have an afro,” he replied. “Successful 80s’ hair, check,” I thought to myself.  “So, what do you bring to the table?” he asked Sleepless. And with that, we went from being lost in the 80s to being found in a bar with a guy who felt compelled to tell us his salary was in the 80s. Instead of telling him what she brought to the table, Sleepless did a 180 and, like so many 80s one-hit wonders, we quickly left The Safety Dance floor – just like so many 80s’ one-hit wonders.

Being some of the more fortunate people in life, Oreggano, Cream Of Tartar, It’s The Eyes and Mail Order Bride had the privilege of attending the rodeo prior to Sleepless and I meeting up with them at the Westside cowboy bar. By the time we met up with them, they really had their cowboy (and cowgirl…and drink) on. “They’ve got a mechanical bull,” Oreggano advised me. “I remember that from last week,” I told her. “Well, you can ride it for free. All you have to do is sign the form,” she ‘challenged’ me. “Let’s do it!” I replied.

 

It’s The Eyes agreed to take pictures and I mounted the bull in full cowgirl regalia: hat, boots, plaid shirt, short skirt and owl print fullbacks. A real hoot for everyone. Considering it was my first time, I think I did a pretty decent job – especially now that I have researched ‘How to Ride a Mechanical Bull’ (which I probably should have done beforehand). I held on with my dominant hand, squeezed with my thighs – I’m no fool – I know the importance of ‘rooting’ the bull, relaxed my upper body, and used my free hand for balance. Originally, I had considered using my free hand to keep my skirt down, but just like Oreggano has surrendered to her inner bitch, I followed my ‘basic instinct’ and surrendered to my inner Sharon Stone in an attempt to stay on the bull. After about ten seconds of snap- and snatchshots, I was bucked. Like so many other adventures that require ‘bull riding how tos,’ it ended all too soon.

 

A different type of shots followed and, just as we were about to sit down and relax, a man approached Oreggano and asked her to dance. Instead of saying no, she replied, “Dance with her,” and pointed to me.  “Will you dance with me?” he asked. Being that he had been shut down by Oreggano and she had told him to ask me, I felt obliged to do so. Thus, I handed Sleepless the Rand McNally PacSafe and joined him on the dance floor.

 

Pretty soon, we were all on the dance floor. Even Cream Of Tartar threw down a few coaster steps, heel swivels and grapevines. It seemed appropriate, since he was donning a large brimmed cowboy hat, boots, and Wranglers with a can of chew in the back pocket. Classic cowboy.

 

To end the evening right, Sleepless, Oreggano, Cream Of Tartar and I stopped at one of Oreggano’s favorite late night fast food establishments for nacos – also known as navajo tacos. We took them back to their place where I thoroughly and quickly enjoyed each bite. “Wow,” Cream Of Tartar commented, “You didn’t waste any time eating that.”  He was right, I didn’t. My naco was gone and they all still had several bites left. “I’m a good eater,” I replied. I am a good eater. Plus, bull riding and country dancing with strangers really works up an appetite.

 

There are very few words that rhyme with ebleskiver. Surprisingly,  The Leaver is one (two, actually) of them. She stopped by today to discuss our documentary plans and we decided to go to breakfast. The Leaver is a simple person and doesn’t fuss too much about her appearance. As we were getting ready to head to the restaurant, I noticed she sniffed her armpit. “Did you just smell yourself?” I asked. “Yes,” she laughed. “Stinky?” I questioned. “No. I mean, yes. I don’t mind my smell, but other people sometimes do,” she told me.

 

Although other people might mind her smell, we still went to the restaurant. An hour or so later, she was leaving. “Look at me, I’m The Leaver and I’m leaving. I just drop in and then I leave. Can you believe that?” she asked. I actually can. To coin a phrase she didn’t actually coin, but believes she coined, it’s not my first rodeo…or my first rodeo clown, for that matter.

 

Several hours later, I received another surprise guest, Sleepless. She and Progressive had been at one of my favorite eateries and he felt it wasn’t a good idea for her to drive, so he brought her to me for supervision. We had a couple of glasses of water and then walked down to Alice’s to celebrate National Rat Catcher’s Day. “Alice said she would be drinking a glass of wine with a loaded BB gun in honor of Rat Catcher’s Day. My guess is only half of that is true; the wine half,” I told Sleepless as we enjoyed our walk and ‘coffee.’

 

Once at Alice’s, I learned my assumption was correct and she learned how Sleepless came to be with me this afternoon. While pointing out rat sitings, Alice sipped her wine and we sipped our coffee. Pretty soon, Alice’s wine was gone and Sleepless had headed to the making room room. “I didn’t want to bring out more wine since you guys are drinking coffee to sober her up,” she kindly told me. I laughed and reminded her, “Don’t you remember having coffee with me? We’re drinking wine!”

 

Alice gave me a sheepish grin and said, “I can’t believe I forgot about that.” She then topped off our ‘coffee’ and began discussing limericks with us, “I’ve written a couple of limericks. They’re pretty fun. My favorite limerick was the one we made up about Pharmacist Dave when I was 15, but the one I wrote for Hot Mustard was difficult. I mean, what rhymes with ebleskiver?”