Category: blog

With 11-11-11 just around the corner, I’ve been checking in with S-Unit periodically to see how her wedding plans are coming – I want to make sure she is ready.

She has a bit of a crush on someone right now and is feeling pretty good about the way she is feeling. “I haven’t felt this way since 1999,” she excitedly told me. “Come on, really?” I asked and requested clarification, “Since the late 1900s, huh?” “Yes, I’m not even kidding. I have been detached since 1999. Since then, most of my relationships started like this, ‘You seem like a really nice guy. I don’t want a relationship.’ And when they ended, I’m like ‘Oh well.’ Really, I’m very detached.”

“I wouldn’t worry, you’ve got six months. Sleepless saw something at the airport that might work for you,” I advised her and continued. “She was heading toward baggage claim and saw a guy with a sign that read ‘Will you marry me?’ It wasn’t addressed to anyone particular and she had considered running up to him and excitedly answering ‘Yes, I will!'” “That is hilarious,” S-Unit replied. “It is and it will be even funnier when you are the one holding the sign at the airport. We could do it randomly or just wait until 11-11-11 and see what happens.”

“I’m not too worried about it,” she replied, “I’ve always got 12-12-12.”

She may have 12-12-12, but I’ve got an order of ‘Best By 11-11-11’ t-shirts that may be on ebay soon.

 

 

 

Things got a bit crazy at the Casa y Casita, thus, I missed an entire day of blogging.

 

While at dinner, we had planned a day trip to Sedona. Based on the time it took to drive there and our desire to be home by dinner, MyFace set a 9 AM departure time.

 

MyFace, Q and I were staying in the casa while Sleepless and Oreggano stayed in the casita. Just as I was getting ready for bed, I received a text from the casita sasistas telling me they needed to talk to me. I walked over to find them in their little twin beds watching infomercials. “We don’t want to go to Sedona. You need to tell MyFace,” Oreggano told me. Sleepless sat up in her bed, nodding.

 

Eight hours later, fast asleep in my bed, I received another text. “What are you doing? Did you talk to Q? We will hide out in our skinny beds until we hear otherwise.” Q was still sleeping, so I went into MyFace’s room and told  her they didn’t want to go. “Why wouldn’t they just tell me? That’s it, we’re messing with them,” she replied. We then entered the closet, which shares a wall with the casita, and had a quick conversation about how they we were going to Sedona and they needed to be ready by 9. As we did this, I could hear them quiet down, so I know their ears were pressed against the wall. This wasn’t, however, enough for MyFace, so she walked over to the casita, knocked, didn’t wait for a ‘come in,’ and told them they wouldn’t be invited back if they didn’t start communicating directly. “OK,” they both sullenly replied.

 

They eventually dared to come to the casa for breakfast. “Uh huh,” MyFace said. “Now you’re ready to get out of bed.” “We were just trying to be team players and  make you proud and happy,” Sleepless told MyFace. “No wonder you’re a lawyer,” MyFace replied.

As we were sitting around the table eating breakfast, Sleepless shared some information with me and – since everyone else was within earshot – the others. “Oh, so I had a dream that we had sex last night.” Usually Sleepless spells ‘sex’ when she says it – she didn’t do that this time, not so sure what that means. “Hmmm. Was it good?” “Oh, yes. I wondered if I made any noise,” she answered. “I had no idea that was going on in the skinny bed next to me,” Oreggano interjected and added, “And, no, you didn’t make any noise.” “Sorry. It’s my fault you had the dream,” I told her. “Parading around in all of my hotness yesterday at the pool. I’m surprised all of you didn’t have a sex dream about me.”

 

As the day went on, I was able to use my dream status to get away with things, “Well, in the dream you thought I deserved it,” or “In the dream you would do anything for me.” This brought us to the topic of lesbians. “I just don’t understand the hair,” MyFace told us. “I know a lot of lesbians and most of them do not have good hair. I just want to take them and get there hair done.” “Very nice, a little philanthropy project. Maybe I’m a lesbian, my hair is doing its own thing today,” I told her. “You’ve got way too good of hair to go there,” she replied. I plan to encourage her to move forward with her charitable work, I think she should call it Unspike the Dyke.

 

With most of our time spent poolside, I was able to do a lot of observing of nature – all of it. Sleepless had also been observing things – animal noises. “They should really make a Shazam app for animal noises. I hear a lot of noises when I’m running and I wonder what they are. Plus, at the store last night, there were a lot of noises coming out of that bush.” A Shazanimal app would be nice. Perhaps it could also identify animals if you take a picture of it. MyFace, while pruning the poolside roses informed us there were bits and pieces of rodents on the ground near the bushes. I took my camera and binoculars over to assess the situation. It is amazing how much a half dozen old moldy flowers look like tails.

 

Q was working on her tan via MyFace’s 4-8-10 method (SPF 4 – ten minutes in the sun, then SPF 8 – ten minutes in the sun) when I noticed a mole on the back of her leg. I was asking her about the mole – was it new, how long had she had it, if doctors had concerns, and – most importantly – did hair ever grow out of it. “No, I don’t have a hairy mole,” she patiently and politely replied. “That reminds me,” Oreggano piped in, “I’m supposed to be in the weekly news this week.” None of us are sure of the correlation, but I have a feeling it may be something like page three of The Sun.

While waiting for the girls to get their massages and facials at the 55+ Country Club, I sat poolside – reading a book, taking calls and, best of all, watching seniors do water aerobics.

As I watched approximately 20 seniors doing crosscuts and other activities, I noticed a woman on the other side of the blue pool dividers. She was trying to act nonchalant and, to her credit, was pretty smooth, but this Golden Girl was guilty of theft of services. While the other seniors paid $1-4 for the class, this lady paid nothing, all the while doing the exercises under the water, trying to act like she was just walking the pool. “Clever. This woman could have been my great grandmother,” I thought to myself.

After we were rubbed and scrubbed, we headed to the condo to do more poolside sitting – sans seniors doing water fitness – and wait for Sleepless to arrive. Once we received the text that she had entered the complex, we all went to the drive to meet her. As the blue shuttle pulled up, her four friends – all in varying swim covers – waved her in. I decided to go Snooki style with an ‘I heart NY’ t-shirt that I had turned into a muscle-tee mid-riff. Knowing what she likes (in addition to Snooki look-alikes), Oreggano and had her Sutter Home White Zinfandel chilled and ready. This was something we had to sneak – MyFace and Q aren’t fans of the zin. When they found out what we had done, Q laid down some ground rules. “You can’t drink that stuff in the house,” Q advised her, “Only outside.”

After a few more hours poolside (lucky for Sleepless this meant she could have lots of Zin), we got dolled up for a night in the big city of Scottsdale. Luckily, our restaurant was in walking distance of the adult ice cream store. ‘Adult’ doesn’t imply it was like the ice cream parlour in the infamous porn Wendy and the Waffle Cones, rather, it implies the ice cream is liqueur-laced; liqueur-laced and delicious. After one scoop, we walked back to the car. Walking off the ice cream was a good idea – we wouldn’t want MyFace to end up with a DUIc – Driving Under Ice cream.

The ride home was like many rides home – seems to take much longer than the way there – wherever there may be. “I can’t believe the speed limit is only 55,” said MyFace. “Everything here is 55,” quipped Oreggano, ‘The speed limit, the people.” “Lots of 50s here. Isn’t Area 51 here?” I queried. “Yes, in Prescott,” said Sleepless. “I slept with a guy from Prescott once,” said Oreggano. “Was he 55?” I asked. He wasn’t, but it was about 10:55 when we got home. While the seniors in the community were either in bed, getting ready for bed or rummaging through their refrigerator (I could only see so much with the binoculars), we grabbed our cocktails and sat poolside again  – the juvenile party crashers of Surprise. Better yet, the Surprise Party Splashers.

Met up with Oreggano and Q to make our departure to Arizona. As often happens on these trips, it is decided, right away, that I won’t be the primary or secondary, or any driver really, on the rental car.

We parked in our special designated spot (work perk) at the airport and as we were exiting the vehicle I received a work call. Being the consummate professional, I took the call while grabbing my luggage out of the back of the vehicle.

Q and Oreggano had already grabbed their luggage and were just waiting for me. So, with my bag of magazines and goodies on my right shoulder, my phone in my right hand and pressed to my ear, I pulled my luggage out with my left hand.

My luggage isn’t huge, it is actually carry-on size, but I needed to back up a few steps to clear the back of the car and that is when I backed right into Oreggano’s luggage, my feet flew out from under me and I landed, spread eagle, flat on my back, phone in my hand, pressed up to my ear. Above me, Q and Oreggano were staring down at me, speechless, jaws dropped.

I made no utterances-didn’t scream or swear-the man on the phone had no idea my bags and I were sprawled across the parking lot. “Uh huh….OK….thank you,” I properly finished the call and then – still on the ground – Q, Oreggano and I started laughing. “Totally saw that happening and for some reason I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Q told me. “I can’t believe you maintained composure,” Oreggano added. “I’m a professional first. Clutz second. I would really like to have seen that. Do you think we could get the footage from Airport Police?”

Although we had, upon check-in, declared ourselves ‘Q’s chaperones’ or, as Oreggano said, “escorts,” the Captain had no interest in meeting us – he only wanted to speak with Q. Not easily offended and major opportunists, Oreggano and I used this time to take photos in the back of the plane before they let the other passengers board.

A few photos and an important discussion later, we were all in our seats, as were the other passengers. Q was seated a row behind us and right next to a mom with two toddlers. She was reading her book and Oreggano and I were reading Cosmo. This month’s issue was discussing all of the hip things to do. “Ride bikes, go to piano bars. This is all stuff we have been doing for years,” Oreggano commented. “What year is that magazine?” I asked. Oreggano checked the cover, which read ‘March 2011,’ and said, “March 2005.”

As we were laughing about how funny we thought we were one of the toddlers started crying. “Oooohhhhh,” sighed Oreggano while rolling her eyes. “Q should do us all a favor and breastfeed that baby,” I told her and added, “I’m sending her a note.” Whenever flying with friends who aren’t seated right next to me, I like to pass them notes. When I can have the flight attendant pass the note, even better. “Wet Nurse, Maybe you could be a gem and feed the baby. – 16C & D:” Q didn’t oblige, but later, when reviewing the plane activity, I reminded her that breastfeeding someone else’s child is one more way for her to keep the peace and, essentially, protect the citizens of the United States. “Right,” she responded.

Once in Arizona, we met up with MyFace, celebrated Cinco de Mayo in Glendale, and then retreated to the casa and casita. We got in our pajamas, grabbed a drink, and sat poolside. We had been going in and out of the house for different items and MyFace, while telling us a story, headed back into the house. What she didn’t realize, however, was that Q had pulled the screen over. MyFace walked sqaure on into the screen. The consummate proper friend, her only comment was, “Huh.”

S-Unit and I, though living in different states, have a special little routine each night or, if each night doesn’t work, whenever we choose.

As we are returning home from work or other activities, we call each other. We’ll chat about the day, fill each other in on all of the juicy details of our lives and then we ‘hang out’ together.

There have been many times when we have shared a lovely meal at the same time and, just recently, we washed our faces together. S-Unit washes her face every night, but I have just recently taken up this habit and, by recently, I mean tonight. We did this together by putting our phones on speaker mode and just scrubbing. “Can you hear my Clarisonic?” S-Unit asked me. “No. Can you hear me manually moving my Tweezerman facial brush?” I responded.

Once our faces were clean we began one of our very routine routines: commenting back and forth on facebook. As we were doing so she informed me I was 5150.  I’m not crazy, I know what ‘5150’ is, so I told her, “I always thought our relationship was more 50-50, but 5150 works.” “50-50, 5150, potato, potahto. I’m putting that on facebook. How do you spell potahto?” she replied.

As we were ending our evening for the third time (tonight was a special night, thus, involved several phone calls), S-Unit told me, “You know you are the only person I do this with.” “That sounds like a line. Do you say that to everyone?” I asked. “5150 chance,” she retorted.

 

 

Seems I have a new habit – being completely out of it. For the last few days, perhaps weeks, I have lost several valuable items. Namely: my shed key and my French Travel Pack CD. BeCuz believes these may be ‘code words’ for sexual activity. Not so. The only thing I have lost related to sexual activity is my virginity and that happened so long ago and so fast I didn’t even realize I had lost it. Five minutes of my life that I’ll never get back. Your Zodiac sign may have changed this year, but mine changed a long time ago. I will never be a Virgo again.

I’m also not going to be able to mow my lawn, ride my scooter, do tricks with my sweet bike, or speak essential words and phrases in French. It’s “Comment ca va?” “Uh, what?” all day for me.

Hopefully, with the help of some fine songs with English and French in them, like C’est La Vie, Lady Marmalade, and Kiss Me Forever, I’ll be able to sing my way through France. If I’m lucky, I’ll have two backup dancers, just like Julien Doré.

Oreggano and I are both suffering from similar ailments right now: a terrible hack and a longing for warm weather. Tonight, the weather was on our side so we took our smoker’s cough stoopside and watched the passersby. The neighborhood was full of it’s usual goodness – the souped up late 1950s Hearse, the deals on wheels dude, and the bicyclist who abruptly turns her bike around as soon as she hits my driveway. “Is she spying on us?” asked Oreggano. “Probably,” I answered. “I think she is part of the mobile neighborhood watch. Speaking of which, let’s grab our coffee cups and go for a walk.” We walked around several blocks – constantly assessing and observing, but never noting any criminal activity. Our neighborhood watch involves finding paint schemes we like, gardens that are pretty, soon to be vacated properties, homes with great bookcases, and parties where the people use actual wine glasses.

Oper only lives a few blocks from my house, so we decided to pay her a visit. This is another one of our (Oreggano and I) favorite things to do, unannounced visits. If the homeowners aren’t at home, we make ourselves at home on their porch, and send them photos. If we don’t know the homeowners, we don’t send them photos. Luckily, Oper was home and visiting with a friend. Apparently, even though we were interrupting, we weren’t interrupting.

After interrupting reminiscing for some time, we made our way back home. The sun had set, the streets were dark and the girl on the bike was gone. We were on our own. As I found a shiny object – a house with their curtains open and an amazing display of books – Oreggano found something moving on the ground. “Don’t look, just keep on walking. Keep walking,” she told me. “What? What was it?” I asked. “I don’t want to tell you. Do not look at it. We’re sick and must get home.”

Sometimes the most crucial part of neighborhood watch involves watching out for your friends and their weakness for shiny objects.

Lately the weather has been a bit bi-polar and, as a result, my body does not know how to respond. I ended up feeling under the weather – suffering from body aches, raspy throat and a horrific hack. I wasn’t resting below deck, like a sailor might, rather, I was resting on my couch or floor – whichever provided me the most comfort.

In the middle of the night, I was awakened by my hack and reminded of the pain in my body – specifically my hips. I contemplated the various reasons my hips might hurt: ailment, lack of exercise, lack of sexual activity, sleeping on the floor or couch. With all of these thoughts in mind, I decided I needed to take care of myself and went into my bedroom, reached underneath the bed, and pulled out my heating pad.

This trick worked wonders, so when That’s Not Chinese invited me to dinner I told her I would grab my heating pad, a bottle of wine and make my way.

We spent the evening – her on the couch, me on the chair with my heating pad on my lap – watching CSI, The Amazing Race and Black Swan. I knew what to expect from CSI and The Amazing Race. Outside of one highly talked about scene in Black Swan, I didn’t know what to expect. When it was over, That’s Not Chinese looked at me and said, “I feel very unresolved.”  “Yes,” I agreed and added, “I feel confused and I’m not talking about my sexuality. I also feel like the film should come with a warning, ‘Only watch while wearing a toothguard.’ I’m pretty sure I was clenching my teeth during most of it.” “That might be a good idea and, for the record, I’m not confused about my sexuality in the least, but I’m still feeling very unresolved.”

Not sure how to help, I sat back in the chair and was immediately reminded of what helped me in my time of need. “You should get a heating pad,” I told her. “They’re amazing. I plan to start taking mine everywhere. Nothing says resolution like plugged-in heat.”

 

The Babysitter’s Club has been in full bloom this week. The first gig involved just me and Baby Q and she was problem free, as usual. The clients, aka her parents, returned to retrieve her and, as we were chatting, Oreggano and Patty Melt stopped by.

Oreggano loves babies. “She is so cute. Oh my god, she is so cute. How cute is she?” she repeatedly stated. Patty Melt, on the other hand, is not a fan, “I hate kids. Especially teenagers. Once they’re 13, you should just grab a bag and some stones and throw them in the river. I’ve always wanted to be a foster parent, but I hate babies.” “You may not want to mention that in the home study,” I advised her.

I had thought for sure that Patty Melt’s unfavorable comments would result in me losing my one and only gig – fortunately, I was wrong. The next day, I got to babysit Baby Q again. In addition, I had the company and support of Sleepless, That’s Not Chinese and Little Sleep.

Little Sleep was interested in watching TV, so, being a helpful babysitter, I attempted to find the Disney Channel or Nickelodeon. Not one to watch much TV – especially these two channels – I had no idea which channel to select. so I was mindlessly flipping through all of them. After a couple hundred channels, I decided to find the paper guide. While doing so, I got a “Really?!?!” from That’s Not Chinese. “What?” I asked. “Look at what is on the screen,” she advised. I looked up at the screen to find that I had stopped in the adult section of the guide/channels. Options such as “She Likes It Big” and “Hard, Hairy and Heavy” and the like were front and center on the guide/screen, just waiting to be selected.

“Oops,” I replied and, while quickly changing the channel, whispered to That’s Not Chinese, “Didn’t she say she wanted to watch Dickelodeon?”

Between Patty Melt and cable TV, I may never get another babysitting gig again.

 

MiniMe decided to go to India for a couple of weeks. She has been doing all kinds of research – reading, watching movies, speaking with others who have been or lived there – and, as a result, is probably far more “prepared” than she needs be. “I think you may have over-researched,” I advised her and added, “If it were me going, I would watch Gumnaam – or just the clip with the Jaan Pehechan Ho song, Darjeeling Limited, Slumdog Millionaire, listen to a couple of M.I.A. songs, and eat some curry. I wouldn’t, however, read or watch Eat, Pray, Love – not a fan.”

As a result of research and a few friends with concerns, MiniMe – with her cornrowed hair, newly acquired waterproof clothes sprayed with bug repellant, sleep sack, Urinelles and knife – was ready for India.

With all of her items in a newly acquired backpack, we headed to the airport. “Are you excited?” I asked. “I’m actually scared. I was hoping you would pull over so I would miss my flight,” she informed me. “Why?” I asked. “I hate camping,” she replied. “You’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I really don’t want to poop in the woods,” she told me. “Oh sweetie, don’t worry about it. Look at That’s Not Chinese – she pees and poops outside all of the time, for no reason, here in the United States, in my front yard.” “I know. She told me,” MiniMe said with no sound of increased faith in the trip.

We pulled up curbside, just outside her gate, and she hesitantly made her way to check-in. As I drove away, I phoned Q to let her know she had departed. “She has carabiners on her backpack, so she should be fine,” I told her. “Carabiners?” asked Q, “What is she going to do with those?” “As if I know,” I replied. “I know she’ll be doing community service and trekking the Himalayas, so chance are she’ll use them for window cleaning or climbing or both. Assuming, of course, she makes it to the gate.”