Category: blog

Although Adele was a bit of a bust the other night, the Arctic Monkeys were not. They did, however, pound the drums so hard that they busted one – blew it out completely. Surprisingly, they had a spare. Who blows out a drum and has a spare? The Arctic Monkeys, that’s who.

 

Mini Me and I met BeCuz and her husband at the concert and, sadly, Mini Me was limited to the lower portion of the venue. “You should really get her a fake ID,” BeCuz informed me. “Even with a fake ID she wouldn’t be getting up there tonight,” I replied. This venue is like Europe in that it is not built for gimps – steeps stairways and no elevators. After a couple of appertifs, we joined Mini Me in the lower portion of the venue where we noticed items for sale. BeCuz and I decided to purchase a CD and, after I paid the sales associate, she asked me, “Do you have somewhere big that you can stick it?” I asked her to please not speak to me like that in public.

 

After sharing this exchange with her husband he informed me he couldn’t get over the horrible outfits worn by some of the other patrons. “I agree,” I told him and added, “When you go to see a good band in concert you just assume the other people there have good taste. Then you see them and realize you are wrong.” I wish I could say people were in costume, but they weren’t.

 

After the concert I quickly headed home and changed into my costume for BirthdayOke – a celebration for Sleepless and One And Done. Being that I’m into ‘channeling’ lately, I channeled Diane Lane as Corrine Burns in Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains. I arrived to be greeted by Sleepless who was donning camouflage, tulle, leggings and a tambourine. “Up until about four hours ago (which would have been about an hour before the event) they didn’t have a liquor license,” she informed me. “Good thing they got it. How did they get it so fast?” I asked. “I don’t know. If they hadn’t I don’t know what we would have done,” she replied. “We could have gone bowling, told them we were in a league and these were our ‘uniforms,'” I suggested.

 

A little while later, while doing one of my best spins, I flashed Sleepless my red briefs. “I never wear these underwear so I put them in the costume box and then thought they would like great over tights for PunkOke,” I told her. “They look great. A lot of goodness,” she replied. “They’re big, but at least they’re not granny panties. I had to wear granny panties one time in England because my luggage didn’t arrive.” “What?” she asked. “I got to England and my luggage didn’t, so I had to wear my friend’s underwear – which were granny panties – and a velour track suit that was a bit big on me.”  “Why didn’t you just not wear underwear?” “I didn’t want to cream her jeans, aka track suit. If you had seen me in the track suit you would have creamed your jeans. Granny panties + velour track suit = hot. Not a costume, rather, a fashion statement.”

 

 

While dining at our favorite sushi restaurant, Sleepless and I made an observation, “There are a lot of Asians here.” Being that the restaurant specializes in Japanese and Chinese cuisine, one would think the presence of Asians would be a given. Not in this neck of the woods. Typically, the only Asians seen here are Caucasians.

 

“I’ve become pretty sexist and racist since moving to Wyoming,” White Woman told us. “When I first moved there I was shocked by the lack of culture. Now, when I see culture I am shocked. It’s crazy how I’ve changed. A lot of people are afraid of me.”

 

“They should be,” I told her and added, “You’re a white woman from Wyoming.”

 

I’m not sure if someone winked at her at this point in the conversation, but I’m thinking they must have and I know it wasn’t me (remember, I can’t wink). “I find winking very creepy,” White Woman told us. “Especially by a stranger. I just don’t think it is possible to wink without being perverted.”

 

“Can you wink?” I asked her. “Yes.” “Do you?” “Not very often.” Sleepless interjected, “I can’t believe this. You always made fun of me because I couldn’t wink. As a result, I spent hours teaching myself to do it.” “Wow White Woman, even your sister is afraid of you,” I said.

 

Ice Cream Man decided to try out his wink. “You probably shouldn’t wink,” Mini Me advised him. “Creepy, right?” he replied and added, “With a wink like mine I should have an ice cream van and candy in my pockets at all times.”

 

Just then, One And Done started rapidly winking both eyes. “Wow,” I quipped, “this just went from creepy to carnival.” Take that my winking wanker Rusty Rogue Rafael. Not winking doesn’t making me a freak because, clearly, only freaks wink.

That’s Not Chinese, Tree and Dr. BJ have been waiting, with great anticipation, for Adele’s concert. That’s Not Chinese even held a ‘private concert,’ a few months ago, in preparation. In addition, she regularly raves about Adele and their similarities, “I love her. She is my pitch and I can do that thing she does with her hand.”

 

I knew BeCuz would like to go, so I invited her to join us. We all (Tree included, although he claims to not remember) decided to Adele up for the concert and wear beehive ponytails, accent our eyes with liner and lashes, and wear black. I arrived at That’s Not Chinese’s house to find her listening to Adele and in a somber mood – she had just learned the concert was postponed. Being that we were all Adele’d up, we advised Dr. BJ, BeCuz and Tree to come over and we would have a small, private concert.

 

“I can’t believe this,” That’s Not Chinese informed me. “I’ve even got a Bumpit in my hair and those aren’t easy to use.” “I know what you mean,” I told her, “Mini Me helped me with this fine look.” “You look like you’ve channeled the Parisian Adele,” That’s Not Chinese replied and added, “I love your pone.” By pone, she means ponytail, not cornbread.

 

Once the others arrived we began discussing the concert and our hopes that Adele would reschedule soon. “Hopefully Sleepless is right and it will be just like the Justin Bieber movie,” I told them. Although hopeful, Dr. BJ was pretty disappointed – more so than the night of the American Idol 10th season finale. He was all dressed up in a vest, size small t-shirt and skinny jeans, “I haven’t worn these skinny jeans for a year. Look at my butt in these. Adele isn’t going to get any of this tonight.”

 

I can’t recall a lot of what I was saying or discussing, but I do recall Tree continually asking me why I had to be so mean. “I don’t really think it is my fault,” I told him and added, “I’ve never worn this much hairspray and this pone, well, having a pone like this has it’s consequences.”

 

Later, while sharing the adventures with Sleepless, she advised me maybe I was channeling more than just Parisian Adele, “You might have been channeling Snooki as well.” “Guess that makes me Sn’Adele,” I replied.

 

Even though Adele may have given our town the cold shoulder, I’ll/we’ll be waiting for her return. We plan to set fire to the rain, chase pavements and do whatever else it takes to get her back.

Skiwi decided to host a birthday brunch in honor of all of the May birthdays, specifically DDDG, Sleepless and That’s Not Chinese. The only thing guests were asked to bring was bubbly – based on the guest list, this was no problem. Skiwi likes to bring his slippers when he attends events at other people’s homes, so I suggested everyone bring their slippers to the brunch. Dr. BJ took it a step further and brought a plaid flannel night shirt. “My mom bought this for me when I was in high school,” he proudly told us. “Did it shrink?” Skiwi asked.

I wore a pair of goose down slippers that, unfortunately, have a hole or two and, as a result, were leaving a trail of feathers. Dr. BJ was the first to notice and commented, “If you can’t leave a mark, leave feathers.” “Feathers are my mark,” I replied and added, “I should be writing this stuff down.” “I’m telling you when this stuff comes out, it just keeps coming,” Dr. BJ replied (and I wrote it down).

Skiwi and DJ Slap Pound spent most of their time in the kitchen, preparing brunch for everyone. When they weren’t in the kitchen, they were busy DJing the event and teaching us new handshakes. “I asked this kid to teach me the coolest new handshake and he told me it was the slap pound,” DJ Slap Pound advised us and then proceeded to attempt to teach to everyone. This technique didn’t come naturally to Skiwi, but DJing did, so he got up to change the music and asked me, “Did he show you my control panel?” Not sure what he meant and not having been shown anything other than the ‘slap pound,’ I told him no. He didn’t expound on it nor did he attempt to show me anything.

They retreated to the kitchen to make dessert for us and Skiwi provided a bit of a warning, “I know you guys are kind of busy talking and stuff, but we are experimenting with fire.”  “I don’t think that is smart,” That’s Not Chinese told him, “You try to use paper to extinguish fires.” Skiwi didn’t respond verbally, rather, held up a fire extinguisher – he was ready.

After dessert, which was made and served without incident, Skiwi joined Oreggano, Sleepless and I at our table. “Thought I’d stop by the kids table and see what is going on,” he told us. “This is the kids table?” I asked. “Yes, it sits a bit lower, so it is for kids.” He then hurried off to assist DJ Slap Pound with the music. “Makes sense that he would seat us here,” Oreggano quipped.

“Dr. BJ is right,” I told Oreggano and Sleepless, “I should really being writing this stuff down. You guys said some funny stuff today. Do you remember what you said?” “Hmmm, no,” Sleepless replied. “We were saying some really funny stuff amongst ourselves,” Oreggano stated. “Yes, we were,” Sleepless agreed. “We’re pretty funny,” Oreggano assured me. “There you go,” Sleepless said to me, “Write that down. That’s funny.”

Prior to everyone leaving and DDDG and I becoming the patio entertainment, That’s Not Chinese, Dr. BJ and I discussed our plans for the evening. “I heard Adele canceled her show in Minneapolis,” That’s Not Chinese told us with grave concern. “I hope she doesn’t cancel here,” Dr. BJ responded. Always one to console, Sleepless provided support, “It will be ok. Justin Bieber did that in his movie and at his next concert he was really good.”

Most of the guests left and the only remaining were me, Mini Me, DJ Slap Pound and Everything. Mini Me was asleep (or so we thought) and we were sitting around the table, chatting it up when DJ Slap Pound returned from the bathroom in Skiwi’s robe. “Looking very dapper,” I told him. “Is that your smoking jacket?” “It is indeed,” he replied. “I usually wear that when I’m hoping to get lucky,” Skiwi shyly informed us. “Really?” DDDG asked with great surprise, “I had no idea you did that.” “Guess it doesn’t work,” I told him and asked Everything, “Does it work for you?” “No,” she replied and added, “Not at all.”

While Oreggano and I were getting our toes pretty for today’s holiday gathering, I was sharing a story with her about a call I received in reference to a woman by the name of Christylove. “Christylove?” I asked the caller, “Yes, Christylove.” “How is it spelled?” I asked. “Just like it sounds, and it is all one word, Christylove.”

 

Get Christie Love! is a movie from the 1970s about a detective – first name, Christie, last name, Love – who would arrest people and say “You’re under arrest, Sugah!” This is a great first and last name for a saucy detective with a tantalizing catchphrase. As a first name only, Christylove, is horrible. “I think we should start adding ‘love’ at the end of each of our friends’ names.” We started doing this (That’s Not Chinese Love, Sleeplesslove, Treelove, etc.) and I realized we could add any word to the end, so I came up with “Oregganohump.” “Why don’t I get love?” she asked me. “I like the hump,” I replied.

 

Once we arrived at the gathering, Mini Me immediately beginning chatting it up with one of the guests. “Looks like we have a ginger union,” I told Oreggano and Cream of Tartar. “Oh, we noticed,” Oreggano informed me.

 

It was getting cold outside so most of the guests retreated to the house. Mini Me had gone inside some time before, as had her ginger friend. “I haven’t seen her for a while,” Cream of Tartar said and added, “Do you think we should go get her and have the talk about not doing things that are going to mess up the rest of her life?” “They just met,” Oreggano reminded him.

 

Mini Me returned an hour or so later, sans ginger. “So, did you get numbers?” Oreggano asked her. “He asked for my number,” Mini Me giggled. We told her about Cream of Tartar’s concerns and she replied, “I can’t help it, I’m flirtatious. You can’t get upset with me for being a flirt. I get numbers all the time.” “I’m not upset,” Cream of Tartar informed her, “I’m proud of you. I can’t wait to see the red headed grandkids.” Mini Me giggled again and I turned to Oregganohump and said, “Ah, so cute. Mini Me Love is in love.”

 

 

With the shed still locked and the key nowhere to be found, I solicited the expert lawn care of Oreggano and Cream of Tartar. In exchange for their fine whacking work, I provided them dinner.

 

We decided to dine on the stoop because the weather was great and we wanted to teach Cream of Tartar the tricks of the stoop trade. As cars drove by we would yell “holla” or “slow down;” the latter being used regardless of the rate of speed. Cream of Tartar was nervous about doing either, however, eventually gave up fear for temptation and shouted out a shy “holla” to a car driving by, with their windows rolled up.

 

It was about this time that a loud noise came from his phone, alerting him of a text message. “Wow, that’s loud,” I told him. “Is that your new phrase?” Oreggano asked me and then told Cream of Tartar and Mini Me, “She said it to me earlier.” “I’m just not used to hearing a sound like that, especially that loud. My phone is on vibrate,” I told her.  “Of course it is,” Cream of Tartar quipped.

 

Prior to joining us on the stoop, Mini Me had thoroughly enjoyed watching White Chicks, girl loves the brothers. She had been hoping to go to Italy next year and just learned she would be going to Bulgaria instead. “What exactly is in Bulgaria?” she asked us. In unison, Oreggano and I replied, “Bulgarians.” “That is exactly what I was going to say,” Cream of Tartar told us. We decided to “become smarter,” (Cream of Tartar’s phrase) by Googling ‘Bulgaria.’ In doing so, we learned that many Bulgarians are extremely racist, particularly toward blacks. “I don’t like that,” Mini Me told us. “Agreed,” said Oreggano and added, “The Black Sea is the only black you’ll see there – not a sea of brothers.” “Maybe you’ll meet someone in Greece,” Cream of Tartar told her. “Yes, then you can be in a movie called My Big Black Greek Wedding,” Oreggano said while giggling. “Oh, that’s a good one. You should write that one down,” Cream of Tartar advised me.

 

As I was writing it down, a bird quickly flew above Cream of Tartar’s head. “Slow down,” he shouted. The birds continued to fly by and loudly chirp to each other. In addition, Mama Finch was flying in and out of her penthouse. “Do you ever think about eating those eggs?” Cream of Tartar asked. “No,” I told him and added, “But sometimes I eat eggs while watching the birds. Do you guys know the difference between brown and white eggs?”  “No,” said Oreggano and suggested, “Let’s Google it.” “Now we’re on to something,” said Cream of Tartar. “We’re becoming smarter.”

 

Turns out the color of eggs is a result of the color of the hen and, beyond that, there is no difference. While online, I saw an article about a horse herpes outbreak that resulted in rodeo queens riding stick ponies instead of horses. I shared the story with the stoop group. “Why wouldn’t they just ride sheep instead?” Cream of Tartar asked and, before waiting for an answer, asked a follow-up question, “How many horses?” “13,” Oreggano replied. “No, how many horses are there in the state of Utah?” he reiterated. “13,” Oreggano repeated. “No, I mean total. How many horses are there in the state of Utah?” he asked again. “I don’t think they do a horse census,” I told him. “They should,” he said and then received another text. “Wow, that’s loud,” Mini Me told him.

 

Mini Me has been in recovery mode since her return from India. This has primarily involved sleeping and elevating her foot on the couch. When Oreggano stopped by to stoop, Mini Me, always congenial, woke up for a bit and informed us, “I took a shower and then put on a nice shirt and a necklace. They’re yours.” “Good thing you got dressed up for the couch,” Oreggano quipped. “You should be feeling better in no time.”

 

Mini Me dozed off again and Oreggano and I took our positions on the porch. We were just finishing our first glass of wine when one of the neighbors, who joined us on a previous occasion, approached us, “I wasn’t sure if I ever thanked you for that glass of wine.” “I don’t recall,” I responded and asked, “Would you like another?” “Sure,” he excitedly replied. I poured him a glass and a few minutes later he disappeared into my next door neighbor’s house. “Smooth, very smooth,” Oreggano commented.

 

The neighbor eventually returned, handed us his empty glass, thanked us for the wine and told us he would see us again soon. “Even more smooth,” I told Oreggano. “We really need to try that some time soon.”

 

As we continued to stoop, Mini Me continued to sleep. Cream of Tartar had not yet heard about her injury and we thought it might be a good idea to give him a different version, one that involved a knife. “I think you should tell him she fell 20 feet after trying to shank someone,” I suggested. “Ah, perfect,” said Oreggano.

 

The next day, while Mini Me was out and about in her nice shirt and necklace, Oreggano did as we had planned. “What was his response?” I asked. “Nothing yet. I’m pretty sure he is wallowing in his guilt,” she replied. Hopefully his guilt will bring him this way with a lawnmower. I still can’t find my shed key and no matter how nice my shirt or necklace is, it doesn’t get the lawn mowed or make Mini Me feel better.

 

While I was busy working international relations in Europe, Mini Me was busy doing community service in India. After several weeks working in a school, she ventured out on a trek in the Himalayas. It had been raining and the dirt ‘roads’ were wet and, occasionally, crumbling beneath her feet.

 

At one point, as the road was crumbling, she slid down the mountain about 20 feet and landed on a ledge. “It was like I was downhill skiing and then I heard a snap,” she told me. A few hours later she was having a plaster cast made around her heel and foot. She was a bit panicked about the situation, so I reminded her of the positives, “You’ll be moved to the front of every line, might be bumped to first class, and you can finally wear that one shoe that is mateless.”

 

She managed to make it through the rest of the trip without incident and was, in fact, bumped to first class. “We travel priority status as well,” I informed her. “Yes,” That’s Not Chinese concurred, “Makes the lines much shorter.” Not everyone likes to travel the way I travel, but not everyone sees the benefits and beauty of the 1991 John Hughes’ film, Curly Sue.

 

A few hours after retrieving Mini Me from the airport, I received an invitation from Dr. BJ to assist in his current interior design decisions. I met up with him and Disdain at a furniture store and, after finalizing his initial choice, we sat at a lovely dining room set and chatted.

 

We were catching up on life and discussing upcoming events. I mentioned I was working on Memorial day, which surprised Dr. BJ. “Memorial Day!?! Why are you working on Memorial day?” “I don’t have anything to remember,” I advised him. I know the meaning of memorial day is not specific to me, rather, to recognize those who have died while serving our nation, however, I also know very few people actually do just that. Instead, they go to cemeteries, picnic, shop and participate in parades. I have pictures of really cool cemeteries in Europe, my picnic basket is dusty, I’m not in the market to buy anything and, outside of Gay Pride parades, it is hard to beat the last parade I was in with Oreggano. Besides, my parade kit isn’t ready.

 

We planned to get together soon and just before going our separate ways we reminisced about the time Dr. BJ lived with me, which made us giggle a bit and I told him, “That was great, I’m a good time.” I’m guessing he’ll be remembering that on Memorial day. And I’ll be like Curly Sue, singing The Star-Spangled Banner atop my bed (in the mattress department).

 

 

 

Although I am one who could travel endlessly, there are a few reasons  I enjoy returning home. Sometimes it is nice to be back in your own couch, CO chair or bed. It is also comforting to see the habits of your home – chairs on the stoop, a blanket on the arm of the chair, books stacked on a table, and birds in the penthouse. For me, another comfort and, truth be told, necessity, is having good shampoo and conditioner.

 

I have, on previous travels, placed my shampoo and conditioner in travel containers and then not remembered which bottle is the shampoo and which is the conditioner. Or, I’ve not packed shampoo or conditioner, assuming those I visit will have both. Being that many of the people I visit are single men (as I typed this it sounded a bit naughty, but it is true), shampoo and conditioner are not always amenities found in their shower – neither is soap.

 

This last trip, That’s Not Chinese offered to bring the shampoo and conditioner. Being an avid traveler, she had them in the travel size containers, so the only distinction was the color of the bottle. I had no idea of the brand or type.

 

My hair is pretty thick and has a tendency to have a lot of body in other climates. As soon as I washed it in Paris I knew it was going to be a bad hair week for me. My hair was wavy, big and out of control. Once we arrived in Angicourt, I washed it again – still trouble.

 

We were sitting around the table discussing hair when I mentioned my big – literally – hair struggles. That’s Not Chinese was listening intently and finally said, “That shampoo and conditioner I brought is for volumizing hair.” “That explains some things,” I told her. “Yes, some people don’t need volume,” she replied. “Exactly. This Américain is loud enough without big hair.  The only time I need to pump up the volume is when I’m listening to M|A|R|R|S,” I responded.

Traveling, especially when going through the different government security procedures, can be rather interesting.

 

As we prepared to return to the states, That’s Not Chinese advised me and another passenger, “Be ready for the questions.” Sure enough, they came. G4S is an international security solutions company and the equivalent of TSA in the states – they have very similar uniforms, procedures and appear to attract/employ the same caliber of people. If you’ve interacted with G4S or TSA or you are employed by either corporation, you know exactly what I am talking about.

 

One of the G4S employees called us from the queue, scanned our passports and began the ‘speed dating’ process. “Why did you visit Amsterdam?” “How long have you known each other?” “How long were you in this country?” These questions were easily answered, primarily because they didn’t have a subset of questions. This next question, however, did. “Did you pack your own bags?” “Yes,” I answered. “Were they in your possession the whole time?” “Yes.” “Do you know why I ask this question?” “Yes.” “Why?” Excited to show I knew my stuff, I replied, “Because it could be dangerous.”

 

The expression on G4S’ face gave me the feeling I may have answered incorrectly, which made me a little insecure and reminded me of those times when officers asked, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” My attorney has advised me this is a question you never answer. With that in mind, I asked G4S a question. “Ummm, am I doing this right?” This question solicited no response from him. “Could you please repeat the question?” I asked in hopes of providing a response that solicited a different facial response. I quickly learned this was not going to happen.

 

Not one to want to end on a bad note and one who is always curious, I decided to ask him a closing question. “Can you really see all of the places we have been when you enter our passport information in your computer system?” “Yes,” he replied, completely non-engaging. “Wow,” I replied, intrigued. “That’s why you have a passport, huh,” he replied matter of factly while returning my passport to That’s Not Chinese and hers to me.

 

Over ten hours later, we were doing the same thing, but in the states. I had completed the Customs Declaration form and, for whatever reason, dated it 22/5/91. “91?” the TSA employee questioned me, “What is this?” “Hmmm, I have no idea.” “Maybe you could make a copy of it and sell it on ebay,” he suggested and laughed. The next employee paid no attention to the date, “Did you bring in any plants or seeds?” “No,” I answered, “I’m no Green Thumb.” “I am a Green Thumb,” That’s Not Chinese advised him, “But I didn’t bring any plants or seeds.” These responses solicited no intrigue or additional dialogue.

 

We made it to our gate and assessed the situation, emphasis on the ass. “This flight is much shorter than the last one,” That’s Not Chinese commented. “Yes,” I replied, “One and a half hours versus ten hours is a bit of a difference.” “Same, same, but different,” she quipped. I suggested we take our time boarding the plane since we had spent most of our day sitting or waiting in queues. I steered clear of the gate until the very last minute, looking out the window and waiting to see them load my bag on the plane.

 

That’s Not Chinese walked near the gate to check out the queue when the questions and answers began again. “Are you on this flight?” the gate agent asked her. “Yes.” “May I have your boarding pass?” “No.” “Are you waiting for someone?” “No.” “Is there a reason you don’t want to board?” “Yes, I don’t want to stand it that line.” “Better be careful,” I, like a full-blooded American (who just watched Due Date on the last flight – great movie), yelled from my spot at the window, “Green thumb or not, they might put you on the no fly list.”