Category: blog

Had the privilege of dining with Oreggano and Mail Order Bride the other night. Mail Order Bride lives several hours South of us and was gracing us with her presence because the rodeo was in town.

 

“What are you wearing to the rodeo?” she asked Oreggano. “We’re getting Wranglers,” Oreggano proudly replied. “I don’t know what to wear,” Mail Order Bride said and asked, “Do you think It’s The Eyes would be pissed if I dressed as a rodeo clown?” “I don’t think you should worry about that. I quite like the idea. If you have a pie and a bicycle horn you can do the ‘Angry Clown,'” I advised. “Oh, that’s a good one,” Oreggano stated. “I’ve got a clown nose if you’d like to borrow it,” I informed Mail Order Bride.

 

“That reminds me,” Mail Order Bride told Oreggano, “Have you talked to your parents? I asked them to pick me up a mail order bride while they’re out of town.” “Where did Quite Contrary and Bowtie Killer go? Are they in a third world country?” I asked. “Kind of,” Mail Order Bride answered, “They’re in California. I specifically asked for a Filipino.” “Wow,” Oreggano replied. “Well, I wanted to go with them, but knew I wouldn’t fit in their suitcase,” Mail Order Bride told us, ” So I asked them to bring a bride back for me.”

 

Seems like a good souvenir. I’ve only one concern: the suitcase. If Mail Order Bride  was a real rodeo clown she would have a clown car and wouldn’t need to worry about fitting in a suitcase. Hopefully her bride likes pie.

Lately, I’ve been trying to learn a second language. Some people find this humorous, considering the struggles I have with my first language, but I believe in giving up and moving on, so French is my new adventure.

 

Luckily, I have a friend, Maverik Midget King, who is fluent in French and is in the process of learning English. He really speaks English goodly – both spoken and written. This fact has given me hope and provided me with a lot of laughs.

 

The other day he and his girlfriend were making jam and he decided to email pictures of the activity to me. I opened my email account to find several messages from him and one of the subject lines read, ‘Homade rape.’ As I told my boss, “Who doesn’t automatically open that email to see what it is all about?” His response, “Me. I wouldn’t click on that.” Everybody is different. After doing a double take, I opened the email to find the rest of the subject line, ‘Homade rapesberry jam.’ Even better than I had suspected.  Sleepless told me she likes it best with pancakes.

 

The next day, I received another email from Maverik Midget King. He is a fan of America and, some time ago, made a special request for ‘flag swim trunks.’ I shopped around and finally found a pair. In addition, I found some flag/U.S.A. pajama bottoms and sent all of his patriotic wares to him. He was more than excited to receive this package and sent me an email to say thanks, “My pyjama is amazing everybody says that!? Jealous?! For sure:-)) I wear my American short soon for the bitch sorry beach:-))”

 

Raspberry. Rapesberry. Beach. Bitch. Thank you. Nice ass. Same, same, but different.

I love a good grilled cheese sandwich. The more cheese and butter, the better. One of my favorite things to do is take all of the different cheeses in my fridge and combine them in my sandwich. This is very similar to what I do with friends. I take everybody in my ‘pool,’ and combine them at events.

 

Last night, I did this at Patri-oke, inviting loads of friends – many of whom had not previously met. Our karaoke theme was dedicated to the month of July and Patriotism. To be multi-cultural, we celebrated the patriotism of both U.S.A. and France. Since the flags of both countries are red, white and blue, dressing up was easy. Speaking of dressing, once my combo grilled cheese is ready, I love to dip it in one more cheese of sorts, bleu cheese dressing. Delicious. I digest, thus, I digress.

 

Now that you’ve got that visual and your taste buds flowing (or your Lactaid ready), let me give you another visual. WARNING: This is not for the lactose intolerant.

 

Sleepless and I always joke about our leg ‘dimples.’ Dimples, like fat rolls, are adorable on babies. On grown adults, though comfy, they are rarely defined as ‘adorable.’ Thus, we try to be realistic about our dimples while focusing on the positives. The reality is this, if one is lactose intolerant, they should steer clear of our thighs. If they love cottage cheese, they should take a number and stand in line.

 

While dancing at Patri-oke, both Sleepless and One And Done we’re pulling a “We’re the dancers” move and grinding up against me. One And Done got distracted by the arrival of a boy (major cheese melt), but Sleepless continued with the dancing. “Glad you’re not lactose intolerant,” she told me. “I know. Glad you aren’t either,” I replied. “We’re like a cheese melt,” she quipped. We then took our sweaty, cheesy, melty booties off of the dance floor and she advised me of One And Done’s situation.

 

“Major boy drama. One And Done slept with that guy at the bar and now she is kind of hanging around that other guy at the corner of the bar,” she informed me. “That is major drama. How about the fact that the guy over there walked up to our table and I asked if he worked with you. He said ‘no’ and gave a sly smile. I knew I him, but couldn’t figure out how. So, I asked if he was friends with you and he replied, ‘Yes. Don’t you remember me?'” That is a powerful question and one not always easily answered. Thus, instead of answering, I used my work training and opted to smile and look pretty. He continued on, “I slept at your house.” “Oh shit! You did. Yes, yes, of course I remember you. You’re into zombies, right?” “Not into them, just preparing for them,” he replied.

 

I’m not into zombies and I’m not preparing for them. I did, however, find a great recipe for Cheese Zombies and I am dying to test it out.

 

The thing about really great shoes is they are also a really great identifier. For example, if you are stalking someone while wearing clown shoes, you are most likely going to get caught. Or, if you’re in a conference room with windows and the blinds are drawn part-way, you can usually, at a minimum, see the shoes and, if you’re like me, assess them. Cute. Saucy. Old. What the? After a while, you recognize people by their shoes. This can be both good and bad. Good to be known as the girl with the saucy shoes. Bad to be known as the stalking clown or the girl who stunk up the loo. How did they know? The shoes.

 

I met up with a former coworker for dinner today and before eating we both decided to, as the boys say, hit the head. We entered the making room room to find two stalls. The first stall revealed a partially flushed toilet. “You can have that one,” she informed me while walking to the second stall. I took the partially used stall and, as we sat next to each other with only a stall wall between us, she started talking to me about the toilets at our office and the toilet seat covers (provided for your protection courtesy of the management – so thoughtful). “I do not like those toilets. Before I’ve even got my thing spread out, they flush.” Oh the things that are said in bathroom stalls.

 

We excited the stalls around the same time and made our way toward the sink. Being that there was only one sink, I politely allowed her to wash her hands first. While waiting, I noticed a sign by the sink, “Employees must wash hands.” “Since I don’t work here, I’m not washing my hands,” I told her. “Ew. You have to wash your hands. Besides, you work somewhere so you are an employee,” she instructed me.  “Fine. This is just one more reason to be unemployed. Work is a lot of work – even at dinner.”

 

A few hours later, I was working at the furniture store when my coworker walked up and asked, “Do you want to know what I just did in the bathroom?” This is a very interesting question and I wasn’t too sure that I wanted to know, but she continued. “Bathrooms are dirty and I don’t like to see them, so I always take my glasses off when I go in. Usually, I just hook them on my shirt like this (she provided a demonstration). I did that today, but when I went to put on the seat cover, my glasses fell in the toilet. Luckily, the seat cover protected them.” “Wow. That is amazing. You know what you should do?” I asked and then advised, “Thank the management.”

 

Oper decided to have a peel party, not to be confused with a pill party, and I decided to roll over, not to be confused with rolling. So, I cleared the cobwebs off of my skates and started my journey to her house. Luckily, rollerskating is like riding a bike (if you know how to ride) and the skills returned relatively quickly and without incident.

 

Once I arrived at her house we began discussing my birthday celebrations. “I want to go with you to the Hamptons so bad. I was I had a rich man,” Oper told me. “What about Danger?” I asked. “Well, he’s half. He’s got the man part down, anyway,” quipped Live Longer. “See, he is halfway there,” I advised Oper.

 

“True. But I don’t really need a man. Me and Live Longer are going to move away to California and just drink and go out,” she replied. “Don’t you drink and go out here?” I asked, while relaxing on the couch and trying to look both smart and sporty in my dress and rollerskates. “Yes, but it will be different there,” she answered. “I’ve got to wait for my husband to die,” Live Longer interjected. “I shouldn’t have too wait long. He is older than me and I’m Asian. I’ll live longer.”

 

After getting my peel, in hopes of not looking like I’ve lived as long as I have, I announced my departure. “Gotta go, I’ve got furniture to move.” “Are you moving furniture in those skates?” Oper asked. “Yep. It’s a recession. These are the only wheels I could afford.” I figure between The Leaver and me, we can get the moving done quickly and right. We don’t need a man or half a man for that matter – we’ve got skates.

We have been waiting months to hold a yard sale and our waiting has finally paid off. Dr. BJ’s neighborhood hosted a community yard sale with over 100 homes participating. He and I had a few random items to sale and, luckily, The Leaver decided to join us with her wares.

 

As we were setting our items on the lawn, The Leaver advised us she “brought guns to sale.” “Guns?” Dr. BJ asked in shock. “Yeah, they’re good ones too,” she replied. “I think people have to pass background checks to buy a gun,” I advised. “They’re just air guns. Does anyone know how to use them?” None of us did know how to use them, so we relied on the buyers to demonstrate. Unfortunately, the first group of interested buyers didn’t know how to use them and couldn’t figure it out. They were pointing the guns up toward the sky, playing with the clip, all to no avail. Fortunately, Dr. BJ got some good pictures. A few minutes later, while the prospective buyers were still trying to figure it out, another person pulled up in a large truck. “I bet he’ll know how to use a gun,” I told Dr. BJ and The Leaver and then asked him, “Sir, do you know how to use a gun?” Probably not the best greeting at a West side yard sale, but he did, and they ended up buying it.

 

“One gun down. All the good stuff is gone, we may as well call it a day,” The Leaver declared. “What do you mean all the good stuff is gone? Don’t you have two more guns?” I asked. “Yes, but I’ve sold three things, so, you know, she replied. She had definitely been working the customers. So much so that her shorts had sagged further than intended. “This yard sale is off the hook,” I told Dr. BJ. “Selling guns and crack. Unbelievable.” “Crack kills,” Dr. BJ stated. “Am I showing crack?” The Leaver asked. “Oh, yes,” Dr. BJ replied while snapping a picture and laughing. “I can’t help it. I have an extra long crack. No, really, I do.”

 

Several of Dr. BJ’s neighbors stopped by and one of them, in a cute little tie-dye skirt, knelt down to talk to us while we were relaxing in the Adirondack chairs. She works at a local nursery and was telling us about plants, shrubs and the like. After she left, Dr. BJ looked at me and said, “Did you see that? I saw more of my neighbor than I wanted to see.” “Yes, I saw it. Talk about shrubs. Crotch shots are also wasted on the wrong people,” I replied.

 

The Leaver had been keeping an eye on our clothing racks (we each had one), because she was worried that people hadn’t noticed them. Lucky for me, there was a group of five or so people looking at mine. “Everybody’s looking at my rack,” I told The Leaver. “I’ve been looking at your rack all day,” Dr. BJ quipped. A few seconds later, QuQueen giggled and said, “I was just being a tie-dye neighbor. My skirt just went up.” “I didn’t see. Show me,” The Leaver told her.” “I’m not doing it again,” QuQueen said and then, without hesitating or further prodding, said “Oh, OK.”

 

Between guns, shrubs, crack and rack, I’ve no doubt we were the best yard sale on the block.

Dr. BJ is all about the ‘Summer of Concerts’ and purchased That’s Not Chinese and I tickets, aka ‘tics,’ to the David Gray concert for our birthdays. A week before the concert, he learned Disdain, like me, needs a personal assistant. I have a tendency to fail to put things on my calendar or do so and don’t check the calendar. As a result, I double book for several events. This can be frustrating for everyone except me. Turns out, Disdain was double booked the night of the concert, so Dr. BJ sold his ticket to Very Interested.

 

We planned to meet for dinner before the concert and, upon arriving at the restaurant, Very Interested found some of our friends in the middle of a birthday party and decided to join them. By the time I arrived, he and Dr. BJ were already enjoying a glass of the party wine. My wine arrived at the same time as the other guests and it became clear we were really crashing their party, so we moved to another table. The restaurant manager was disappointed he couldn’t accommodate us at the party table, so he brought the party to our table –  a complimentary round of ouzo. “We should crash parties more often,” Dr. BJ exclaimed and then he took a sip of the ouzo, “Oh my, wow. That’s something.” “That’s ouzo!” Very Interested advised him.

 

Just as our bill arrived, so did That’s Not Chinese. Dr. BJ intended to pull out cash and instead pulled out his ticket. “You can’t pay with that,” I informed him. “Oh shit!” That’s Not Chinese shouted, “I forgot my ticket. I’ve got to go home and get it. See you soon.” Once we arrived at the venue, Very Interested realized he left his keys at the restaurant and had to walk back to retrieve them. “I don’t think we’re ever going to get to this concert,” Dr. BJ told me. “We will. They, on the other hand, may not,” I replied.

 

Luckily, we all made it into the venue just in time for David Gray to begin. Both That’s Not Chinese and Dr. BJ were crazy for him. “He is just so cute,” That’s Not Chinese continued to tell me and then would add, “Is it just me or does it look like he has a tic? I think he may be autistic.” David Gray then started talking about the artistic process involved in writing a song. “Did he say autistic or artistic?” That’s Not Chinese asked. “Artistic,” I replied. “Look at my shirt,” Dr. BJ interrupted and continued, “He is so hot he made my shirt bust right open.” Sure enough, Dr. BJ’s shirt was unsnapped to just above his belly button.

 

Dr. BJ contemplated leaving his shirt unsnapped, but reluctantly decided to snap it up while David Gray began tuning one of his guitars. A few minutes later, Dr. BJ’s shirt was still snapped and David Gray was still tuning. “Now you can tell all of your friends that I took three minutes to tune a guitar,” David Gray told the audience, “I can see it posted everywhere.” I wouldn’t necessarily refer to my blog as ‘everywhere,’ but if David Gray believes it to be, so be it.

My office is not in the best part of town and, the best part about that is, it is surrounded my multiple seedy motels.

 

Today I decided to take pictures at several of the motels and was pleased to find one of the motels now has a honeymoon suite. I had taken a few exterior pictures of the motel and then decided to inquire about the suite.

 

Two women with the equivalent of one woman’s set of teeth were working the front desk. “Do you really have a honeymoon suite?” I asked. “Yes.” “What is in it?” “A hot tub, wet bar and something else,” the one with the least teeth replied. “Do you have pictures?” I asked. Instead of answering my question, they both turned their backs on me and walked to the back room. It was clear I was not going to get to see the honeymoon suite. Bummer really. Especially since Rusty Rogue Rafael had proposed to me via instant message yesterday – he got a good deal on a gold ring, “Made in Italy, stolen in Amsterdam,” he informed me.

 

After snapping a few more pictures I headed to the next motel. Although this motel didn’t have a honeymoon suite, in addition to the plush hourly lodging, they had trailer pads available. So much goodness. I opted against inquiring about the trailer pads and began snapping pictures. Withing seconds, one of the owners started walking briskly toward me  – with a PBR in his hand. I snapped a few quick picks and ran to my car before he caught up with me. As soon as I sped away he returned to his position on the concrete post.

 

I returned to work and was sharing the story with The Responsible One. “You should have asked if they take government rates, hourly.” ‘That’s a good idea. I’m pretty sure  they thought I was vice. Next time, I’m getting a Geo Storm, dressing down, and paying cash for the honeymoon suite.”

On My Terms is a high school friend who really knows how to have a good time. Whenever we have plans, I know – without saying or actually doing it – that it is going to be a fist bumping, high fiving adventure. Being that a lot of us haven’t seen each other for some time, we planned a night out at a local watering hole.

 

Always a good sidekick, I brought Oreggano along for the festivities. With limited patio dining, we sat inside and anxiously awaited the departure of other patrons to leave the highly coveted patio. Oreggano had the best visual and would alert me of said acts, “Oh, oh, they’re standing up. They’re leaving. Go!” A few times, the alert wasn’t soon enough and others beat me to the table. Oreggano found this entertaining, “I just like to see how fast you’ll get up and run.”

 

Once on the patio, we were joined by Wanted’s friend, BamRight?!?! Although BamRight?!?! went to school with us, I didn’t remember him. “I was voted most likely to go to jail,” he told me in an attempt to jar my memory. “Did you go?” I asked. “Yeah, but just two nights. It was because I was making fake IDs. They were really good. I made one for her (pointing to Wanted). Bam!” He then extended his arm for a fist bump. This became standard procedure, especially following ‘Bam!’ and ‘Right?!?’

 

“Everybody wanted to get with her. I mean, everybody. Right!?!?” he told us. “You realize she is sitting right next to you and you could just speak with her directly.” I informed him. He laughed, extended his arm in what appeared to be a flexing motion, and said, “I work out a little bit. Bam!” After which, yep – you guessed it, he extended his arm for a fist bump. “Emphasis on the little bit,” Oreggano quipped.

 

On My Terms and her sister, also alumni, eventually left. On My Terms would have stayed longer, but she likes to do things on her own terms. Thus, it was just Wanted, BamRight?!?!, Oreggano and I. BamRight?!?! was generously purchasing drinks and they were flowing – just like his stories. He told Oreggano and I how he “got with her in high school.” Wanted, still sitting next to him, corrected him and advised us that was not, in fact, true. He giggled, again, teased the fist bump, and said, “I was just kidding. Bam!”

 

This discussion led to another discussion about sex and relationships. BamRight?!?! told Oreggano that he’d like to have sex with me and that it would only take twenty minutes. “Just twenty minutes?” Oreggano asked. “Nah, I was just kidding. It will only take eight,” he replied and then added, “Bam!” “Do you ‘Bam!’ and fist bump your wife?” I asked him. He laughed, threw in a “Bam! Right?!?!” and then extended a fist bump in everyone’s direction. “We just had a three-way. Bam!” he laughed.

 

During this time, Oreggano was texting Cream Of Tartar. “Who are you texting?” BamRight?!?! asked. “My husband.” “What are you telling him?” “That I’m drinking with a very funny Asian man.” “What did he say?” “Well I told him you were an attorney and he told me we already have an Asian attorney.” “I can do other things.” “Like fist bump,” I whispered to Wanted. “He suggested that you be our math tutor,” Oreggano advised him. I’m not sure about that one. He fist bumped three girls and called it a three-way. Last I checked, three girls plus one guy is four. So much to keep track of on one night – so many fists to bump, so little time.

While sitting on the stoop of Oreggano’s house, one of her guests (who was probably eight, maybe nine years old) was asked to grab something from the kitchen. “Just because I’m extremely good looking doesn’t mean I have to do everything.” “I feel your pain,” I replied. A few minutes later it started raining, “Better be careful,” I advised him. “You wouldn’t want the rain to wash away your good looks.” “Oh, nothing can take away these good looks,” he replied and then added, “Except, maybe, puberty.”

 

It was about this time that Chauffeur joined the party wearing a very tight t-shirt. “Dr. BJ would be very proud,” Oreggano told him. “It’s a small,” Chauffeur replied. “Again, very proud,” Oreggano reassured him. “Whoa,” Cream Of Tartar said as he arrived on scene and saw Chauffeur’s ‘Jersey Shore,’ “Is that thing cutting off any circulation?” “Very funny,” Chauffeur responded, looked at me, and asked, “Is that a work dress?” “Yes. Why are you trying to make this about me?”

 

We all continued to chat and Chauffeur continued to wear the hell out of his shirt. “Are you flying anytime soon?” I asked him. “No. Why?” “I just know it takes a while to get permits for guns like that. And, for the record, brandishing a weapon within city limits is illegal.” “So funny,” he replied and asked again, “Is that a work dress?” “Why do you keep asking that?” asked BioMom. “Because her cleavage is showing,” Chauffeur replied. “Well then, I guess my work dress is ‘working,'” I quipped.

 

After teasing Chauffeur about getting an ax and chopping down some of our trees, we discussed the idea of camping. Chauffeur and BioMom have a cabin in a neighboring state and we all thought it might be a good idea to spend a weekend there. As we made the plans it became clear that Chauffeur and Cream Of Tartar would be there a day before the rest of us. They were very excited about this prospect. “Where is your cabin again?” I asked Chauffeur. Before he could answer, I continued, “Brokeback Mountain, right?” “There you go again, being funny,” Chauffeur replied and advised me, “You might want to bring a tent because that is what you’ll be sleeping in.” “That’s fine with me.  I’ll bring the tent, you bring the guns,” I quipped. I then looked at Oreggano and, without hearing the question, she knew the answer, “Yes, you can sleep in our tent.”