Category: blog

It’s been a while since Calling The Dog and I have hung out. After seeing all of my amazing ghetto summer pool party pics, she decided it was time to have a pool party at her house. “Let’s do a bring your own pool and drunk yoga party,” she suggested to me one evening. “Can we incorporate a vision board into it somehow?” I asked. “Done!” she replied. Within minutes it was on the world wide web, thus, making it official. The Blurred Vision Board Pool Party and Drunk Yoga event would be taking place at Calling The Dog’s house on Sunday.

 

The first to arrive were Tree and Awkward. Being that they had never met Calling The Dog and they are on a cleanse, therefore not drinking, their first ten minutes together were exactly how Awkward likes things: awkward.  Luckily Calling The Dog can shoot the shit with the best of ’em.

 

Live Longer and I were a bit late arriving because we still had to stop at the store. “Anything I can bring?” I asked Calling The Dog via text. “Bring a pool,” she replied. Sadly, we did not bring a pool. Fortunately, Calling The Dog had found a lovely inflatable pink poodle pool and Tree had already tested it out by the time we arrived. “Water’s great,” he advised and added, “Nice of you to join us.”

 

Within minutes we were all gathered around the pool, dipping our feet, some of us enjoying a beverage, and holding a blurred vision board meeting. It was at this time that Live Longer made a discovery, “I think I may have sat in shit.” “She did. I checked,” Tree confirmed. “Way to make sure your ghetto pool party trumps every other ghetto pool party,” I told Calling The Dog. “What can I say? I’m a shitty host,” she replied while pushing some other recently discovered clumps of animal fecal matter into the shrubs. “Stay middle classy,” I advised. “Oh, I am,” she replied then grabbed her beer, stuck her feet back in the pool, and prepared for a little drunk yoga.

 

 

The other day, after Zumba, Sleepless, Beaner, MiniMe and I did what most women who wear lululemon do – we went out to eat. The difference, however, between us and ‘them,’ is we actually workout and don’t just wear our workout gear to make a fitness fashion statement. We don our off-brand workout gear, most likely purchased on clearance or as part of a Zumba Groupon, and head to the restaurants covered in sweat. Yes, while others make fashion statements, we just make a lot of statements – many distasteful – and we do it while wearing our fitness clothes. We’re classy like that.

 

As we enjoyed our post-Zumba, pre-shower meal, we enjoyed all of our surroundings  – the other patrons, fender benders and the pens provided to sign the check. “Is this a Bic for women?” Beaner asked while holding the pen. “It’s so easy to hold; not like those pens for men.”

 

Like our workout gear, the pen was an off-brand and, like us, it was really working out.

 

 

While my parents were officially celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, YumYummy and I were tooling around New York City like a couple on a honeymoon; sadly, YumYummy was experiencing major headaches the entire weekend.

 

No need to fret, we stay at high-end hotels that have luxury pillow-top mattresses, extra down pillows and cable television.

 

On the third night in the city, after a lovely dinner at an Italian restaurant – where the only thing missing was a bottle of red, a bottle of white, Brenda, Eddy and Billy Joel, we decided to call it a night. So, like anyone who has been dating or married for anywhere from six months to 60 years, we donned our pajamas, put a glass of water on the bedside table, and immediately sported our dental gear. YumYummy was in her mouthguard and I was proudly wearing my retainer. “I’ll be much more pleasant to sleep with this trip because I don’t snore with this in,” she said, with a major mouthguard lisp. Luckily, thanks to years of experience with my retainer, I understood her every word. “We’re a perfec math,” I replied.

And with that, we turned on the tv, watched a couple of investigative reporting shows and fell asleep before the commercials. It was a perfec ending to a perfec day in the thity.

 

 

By the afternoon of our first day in New York City, YumYummy and I were like a married couple on their honeymoon – lying in bed with a headache. Truly, and sadly, YumYummy had a horrible migraine. As a result, I did what I did on my actual honeymoon – that one time I was married to that one guy – and headed out on the town for a little shopping.

 

I had been out and about for about 15 minutes when torrential rains started pouring down. Not one to let the rain get in the way of my day, I pulled out my trusty umbrella and ventured forward. Unfortunately, the lovely pedicure I had given myself prior to leaving the hotel room was now causing my feet to flip all over my flops. This resulted in me making a snap (not the kind of ‘snap’ I made while walking the streets in Chicago last April) decision – ditch the flops.

 

Within minutes I was like Gene Kelly – dancing, singing and filming in the rain. The only differences between the two of us was he had good shoes, I had no shoes;  he had a film crew, I had my cell phone; and he was getting paid, if I wasn’t careful I would end up with a co-pay.

 

Fortunately, I safely made it – barefoot and not pregnant – around the streets of New York City in a major storm. Proof that nobody can rain on my parade.

 

 

 

 

With the exception of a very few, everybody loves independence. As such, YumYummy and and I decided to meet in Manhattan for Independence weekend. I packed, as usual, a few hours before the flight.

 

Just prior to check-in I received a notification that I had been upgraded to first class and it was then that I knew this trip was starting off right.

 

I boarded the plane, enjoyed a glass of complimentary red wine, then slipped in my retainer so that I could straighten up (my teeth) and fly right.

 

I arrived in New York, grabbed my luggage, sent a text to a friend letting him know I was in his great city, then headed directly to my hotel in hopes of securing an early check-in.

Luck was on my side because within two hours of being in New York I had checked into my hotel and was sharing the company of a friend. Without saying too much, I can proudly say that this holiday weekend – known for loads of fireworks – definitely started off with a…..

 

 

Attending my parents 60th 50th (minor error on the poster at the venue) was a bit of a big deal because, for the most part, I don’t attend formal family functions. In fact, it has been almost eight years since doing so.

 

Thus, it was a great relief to find I wasn’t alone – evidenced by this Onion article.

 

When I read the article I couldn’t believe all of the similarities and immediately shared it with Beaner and BeCuz knowing they could ‘relate.’ I wanted to tell them to share it with their family members, but opted against doing so because, like Uncle Greg, I don’t have everybody’s names memorized.

 

Alas, after eight years of my parents and other family members inviting me to come back, I made a bit of a comeback. Not wanting (them) to take these opportunities for granted, and appreciating the value of a good protective order, I’ve slid right back into my standard non-attendance role. I doubt many will notice because, like Uncle Greg’s family event, the anniversary dinner fell “during a lull in the family’s summertime schedule.”

Tonight I went to my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary.  Being that so much time had passed since they first wed, they decided to share a bunch of ‘intimate’ details with guests. This was shocking to some, comical to others, and educational for me. Note to self: accessorize back seat of car with throw pillows.

 

After my parents shared stories the guests were invited to share other stories and memories. This resulted in all of us learning a lot more about my parents.  In addition to hearing the stories and memories, I also had the privilege of hearing and watching one of my uncles clip his fingernails at the table – but that’s a story I’ll share at somebody else’s anniversary dinner.

 

As the evening came to a close, my parents opened a gift from a local sex shop. “Coma sutra,” said Pops as he read the lid. “Kama sutra,” one of the other guests corrected him. “He may be in a coma sutra when he’s done with that,” said another. As Pops continued to read the ‘ingredients’ in the box another guest quipped, “Nice, a 72-hour kit.”

With the weekend upon us I decided to host a pool party. Knowing how much Tree values his lido deck time, I invited him first. “We’ve got a lot going on, but we’ll come over for a bit.” He went on to tell me,  “Awkward wouldn’t mind if his daughter was named A Little Awkward should she ever make the blog.” Done and done.

 

I then invited BeCuz, Sleepless, Ice Cream Man, That’s Not Chinese, and Live Longer. To make the pool a little more appealing, I decided to blow up a raft. Translation: I decided to have Tree blow up a raft once he arrived.

 

When he did arrive I was tooling around in the back 40. “See, I told you,” he said to A Little Awkward, “Nothing is ready – this is a full on white trash pool party.”

 

I didn’t personalize his comment and, instead, handed him the electric pump so he could blow up the raft and the pool – after he and Awkward emptied and moved it to a new spot on the lawn, of course.

 

Once the pool was moved and full the party really got started. The guests rolled in gradually and, in most cases, didn’t overlap; which was helpful because the pool only had space for one once the raft was in it.

 

 

All in all, it was a good day at (or sitting around the outside of) the pool.

Years ago I used to play a board game with my cousins called ‘What Shall I Wear?’ I don’t remember everything about the game but I do remember a few key components: getting invited to events and shopping for appropriate attire. We played this game for hours and, even though I no longer play the board game, I seem to regularly play the same type of game with friends and coworkers.

 

While at work the other day we were discussing the upcoming visit of a dignitary when one coworker asked another, “I’m not sure what to wear. Are you wearing a suit?” “Yes,” she replied. “What about you? Are you wearing a suit?” she then queried me. “The only suit I own is my birthday suit and, until I get a few alterations, it isn’t ready to be seen publicly.” This may not have been the most appropriate response, especially based on the fashion knowledge I acquired after years of playing ‘What Shall I Wear,’ but it seemed right at the time.

 

In the end, none of us wore suits – birthday or otherwise. Instead, we dressed just as the ‘winning’ girls in the board game did when going on a job interview or to a movie premiere – proper, stately and stylish.

A while back That’s Not Chinese, Unfazed and I decided to visit MiniMe in Alaska. Being that she lives above the Arctic Circle we knew our trip would not be short. That’s Not Chinese, one who likes to spend a lot of time in the places she visits, suggested a two-week vacation. Thus, we booked our flights and started planning.

 

Never a conventional traveler, I listened to the planning discussions, but didn’t really do any research. I figured Rated R and Cream Of Tartar would advise me of places to do and things to see based on their extensive reality TV research. I also knew That’s Not Chinese would be finding all kinds of activities for us. Lastly, I knew that, regardless of what we chose to do, it would be expensive.

 

About a month after we booked our airfare I received a call from That’s Not Chinese, “Alaska is expensive.” “We’ve discussed this already,” I replied. “I know, but I didn’t realize how expensive until I started looking at fishing trips and private flights to see the bears. It’s a lot of money,” she said and added, “I think I’m going to have to shorten my stay to just one week. Besides, I’m going to a family reunion in Tennessee in the fall so I’ll be needing the vacation time and money.”

 

Being that both Unfazed and MiniMe had to return to work the second week of our trip this change in itinerary essentially left me solo for the last six days. “What am I supposed to during the day now?” I asked That’s Not Chinese. “You can go berry picking,” MiniMe advised. “Yes, you’ll have a berry good time berry picking,” That’s Not Chinese said while trying not to laugh, then added, “Watch out for bear…ries.” “You’re not berry funny,” I informed her.

 

This exchange went on for an un’bear’able amount of time until MiniMe changed the subject, “I want inside Beaver.” “So do I,” That’s Not Chinese concurred. “Not that kind of beaver. It’s for my coat,” MiniMe clarified. “Have a fever? Wear some beaver,” That’s Not Chinese said, with a rather Cockney accent, then looked at her glass and stated, “Call the swine, I’m outta wine.” She then chuckled for a berry long time until she realized she was also out of rhyme and, with that, MiniMe and I departed, just as she will in Alaska – a little before the originally scheduled time.