Category: blog

Blind dates can be awkward, so it is always nice when one can make a group date out of it; as was the case the other night when The Responsible One and I attempted to line up our friends. We met at a pub and, although the atmosphere was decent, we decided to change venues – maybe go somewhere we could dance.

FatGirl and Tree, part of the group date, were really pushing for a gay bar. “I’ve only got $10 and if we go to a gay bar I can get free drinks with these,” said FatGirl while rubbing his pecks. That’s Not Chinese wasn’t keen on this choice, so we continued to discuss other options. Gay bars continued to be suggested by FatGirl and Tree. “What normal bars……” The Responsible One started to ask and then realized what had come out of her mouth. “Oh shit. That is not at all what I meant. I’m gay friendly. Look,” she said and pointed to Sausage Sampler. “Now who is the drink whisperer?” Drink Whisperer smuggly and rhetorically asked.

We ended up going to a ‘normal’ bar just down the street and found we were a year or two older than most of the patrons. “Maybe we should try going to a ‘normal’ gay bar,” suggested Tree. We did, only to find a lot of other people had the same idea. Tree and FatGirl, wanting deep drink discounts, opted to fight the crowds. Sausage Sampler and That’s Not Chinese decided to call it a night. Sleepless, Drink Whisperer, Passed The Sniff Test, The Responsible One and I felt like we had some singing to do and drove as fast as we could to our favorite karaoke bar.

The crowd was like a mixed salad – good for the soul and complimented by just the right amount of nuts. “I had really thought everybody was done for the night,” Passed The Sniff Test told us. “Oh no,” said Sleepless. “The party never ends, it just changes venue.”

By the end of the night, we had come up with a new business idea, a bar called ‘Geri’s.’ The target population would be geriatric adults. On the menu, warm milk with a Centrum Silver sidecar. Want to get a little crazy and treat constipation? Try a Flaming Fiber shot. In the mood to win? Give the BINGO Bomb a go. Mind Erasers will always be the ‘drink special.’ Instead of condoms, we plan to have Depends dispensers in the loo. Matlock and Murder She Wrote will be playing on flat screen TVs while soft music plays overhead. The rubberized dance floor will be perfect for unexpected falls and dirty dancing in sensible shoes. Like public television exercise shows, we’ll have a section with folding chairs for low-effort gyrating.

Like Sleepless said, the party never ends – it just changes venues and ‘adapts’ with age.

Tree and I are big fans of brunch, so we decided to have some at That’s Not Chinese’s house – we even invited Sleepless and Little Sleep. Unfortunately, That’s Not Chinese was not entirely aware of or prepared for the occasion. Luckily, Tree had carried a carton of eggs with him for miles (at least 10) and I had brought some champagne for That’s Not Chinese’s favorite brunch beverage, nomosas (like mimosa, minus the juice).

For whatever reason, That’s Not Chinese was struggling with the champagne and had spilled it several times. “Once, twice, three times a lady,” Tree sang to her on the third spill. “S-Unit always tells me there is a song for everything,” I told them. “She is absolutely right!” Tree confirmed.

“Listen,” That’s Not Chinese said, “This morning came way too early. I was in bed, sleeping, when I got a text from my mom and I was like, ‘damn mother.’ Then, as I attempted to ignore it, you (me) called and I accidentally answered it and I was like, ‘shit.’ Then I had to get up and I was like, ‘fuck.'” “Very nice,” I told her and then asked, “Have you met Little Sleep?” “We aren’t child appropriate,” Tree stated in her and his defense. Sleepless and I agreed and told them they probably couldn’t be a part of our Babysitter’s Club.

As we were eating our brunch we decided to watch an episode of Modern Family in which Sofia Vergara had several scenes. “I love her accent,” said Tree. “I’m totally going to a speech therapist so I can sound like her.” After the episode we opted to watch Adele on Vh1. That’s Not Chinese was singing her little heart out. “I can totally sing on tone with her when she is singing live.” It was about this time that she sang a bit off key. “No, really, I can do it,” That’s Not Chinese assured us. “I know, I know,” Tree said in a comforting tone while softly rubbing the top of her hand and forearm.

After Adele’s concert we were discussing her lyrics and the reason (break up) for many of her songs. I shared a story about an ex and That’s Not Chinese went to the place she only goes to when I tell her stories about this ex. “I think you two should saunter off now. I’ve got some vandalizing to do.” This news was very pleasing to Tree. “I’m in! Let’s vandalize, I love it!” he said while clapping his hands together like Mongo the Singing Hand Clapping Monkey.

Not wanting to get in the way of her vandalism, and having run out of bubbly, Tree and I headed out for our next adventure.

While grabbing coffee with Not A Supporter we started talking about kids and how many we wanted to have, hypothetically speaking. “I’d have a hundred kids if I was married to someone with loads of money,” she told me. “Me too,” I told her. “Have you got any prospects?” she asked. “No,” I replied and then noticed a ‘mature’ female with some incredibly beautiful shiny grey hair. “I really want hair that color.” Shiny objects get me every time. “If you could have hair like that and be pregnant, that would be awesome.”

Later in the day I received a couple of text messages from Long Ride. He was teasing me about a bunch of different things and then sent me a suggestion, “U should send me some fun photos….;-) I know you are creative.” I had a feeling I knew what he meant by ‘fun,’ I’m not nude to this game, but decided to ask for clarification. He clarified, my assumption was right, and I respectfully declined – I’m not doing anything like that – not again, anyway. I did agree, however, to send him a creative picture. I’m hoping it will be of me with grey hair and a bump. Depending on how things go, it may just be of me with grey hair and a Bumpit.

A few hours later I was enjoying a fine Italian meal with MyFace and Handsome Cowboy. MyFace was telling Handsome Cowboy about the blog, which he doesn’t read, so she told him his ‘blog name’. Somehow, in the midst of this exchange, Handsome Cowboy thought MyFace had said his name was YourAnus. “MyFace, YourAnus, I like it,” I told him, “I may have to change your name – I have that kind of authority you know.”

Our server was a handsome young man who fancied someone just like him. Handsome Cowboy was chatting it up with the server and acknowledging how much he appreciated his opinion on the menu, “I’m taking you home with me,” he told him at one point. After the server walked away, Handsome Cowboy looked at MyFace and I and said, “I probably shouldn’t have said that.” “I think it’s fine,” I told him, “I’m sure he’ll do so, especially once he finds out your blog name is YourAnus.” Handsome Cowboy laughed and said, “I’m not new to this. Gay men have always been drawn to me.” “Me too,” I added. “Yes, you’re really never going to meet a straight men with all of that gay magnetism you have,” MyFace advised. “They (gay men) always tell me I just need to convert,” Handsome Cowboy told us.

Then, as often happens with married couples, Handsome Cowboy and MyFace started having some in-depth conversations about family, beliefs, insurance, and the like. As often happens when I’m with people who are having such discussions, I was perusing the room with my eyes, looking for a shiny object that would catch and keep my attention. “Sorry about that,” said Handsome Cowboy. “We’re having a conversation as though you’re not here.” “It’s because you’re like family,” said MyFace. “It’s OK,” I told them. “I’m not new to this. I was just looking for some shiny objects.” “Just like Dr. BJ,” MyFace added, “Distract, distract, distract.” “Yes, exactly!” I said. “Speaking of which, look at that full moon, so shiny.”

Every now and again I have the privilege of working on a committee with XYZ. Unfortunately, for me, he hasn’t attended the last few meetings. I told Calling The Dog, the chair of the meeting, to send him an email advising him to zip up his zipper and come to the meeting.

We were a  few minutes into today’s meeting when I noticed there was no sign of XYZ. I was hungry and Miss Information informed me the conference room next door had snacks, “I dare you to go over there and take one.” There are a couple of things for which I have no strength: snacks and dares, and not necessarily in that order. I headed to the other room, peered in the door before entering – to assess the situation – and found there were about 40 people in the room. Most of the people were seated around the large table, but there were a few scattered along the back wall. The table with food was on the wall furthest from the door, in-between the conference table and the scattered staff. 

I entered the room, head held tall, and walked with a purpose toward the food table. When people looked at me, which about 40 of them did, I smiled. I arrived at the food table, grabbed a sugar cookie, took a bite, did an about face, and continued to enjoy it while I made my exit. I returned to my meeting with only one regret – that I didn’t take a cupcake too.

Miss Information was proper impressed with my accomplishment and was rousing me to do it again when XYZ made his grand entrance. He was wearing a dapper navy blue suit, with an orange tie and a white dress shirt. To compliment this look, he had unzipped his zipper and pulled the bottom of his dress shirt through the opening of the zipper, just so. “Oh no you didn’t,” I said. “I sent him the email,” Calling The Dog proudly informed me. XYZ took a page out of my book and smiled, all the while looking pretty. Calling The Dog and I were pleased. Everyone else in the room appeared to be either shocked or offended, thus, adding to my pleasure. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” I announced, “I present exhibit Z.”

A while back when driving to work I had an epiphany of sorts, “My job is to smile and look pretty and, sometimes, have words come out of my mouth.”  It is for this very reason that I have stocked up on dental floss, toothpaste, and lip shimmer.

Smiling and looking pretty is something I have been doing, in theory, since I got the t-shirt that read ‘pre·co·cious,’ when I was ten years old. I received this shirt at a time when having t-shirts with words,  broken into syl·la·bles, was all the rage. The t-shirt was a light peach and the font was a faded black. When wearing it, people, and by ‘people’ I mean my school teachers and relatives, would often say to me, “You are a precocious one.” Since the shirt only had the word and not the definition, I would just smile and look pretty, of course. At the time, I was unaware of the definition of precocious.

Looking back now, I realize that I was, in fact, very precocious. Smiling and looking pretty is a proclivity and ability not everyone is capable of and I figured it out at a very young age. Thus, years later, when I actually got to put it into practice at work, I was very proud.

Every now and again I participate in television interviews and the subject matter is usually rather grim, which means no smiling. My most recent interview was no exception. The reporter asked me several questions and the interview was going swimmingly, until he asked a question I could not answer.

I had previously provided a round-about answer, but the reporter would not relent and I could not, under any circumstance, directly answer the question.  So, I thought back to my morning epiphany and pre·co·cious t-shirt wearing days, and I smiled.  “You’re not going to answer my question, are you?” the reporter asked. My smile remained and, to take it up a notch, I complimented it with my signature wink (head tilt to the left).  The reporter smiled back and stopped asking.

As he walked away, without the answer, the lyrics to Bette Davis Eyes played in my head, “She’s precocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush…..” Smiling and looking pretty does have it’s advantages.

It’s hard to believe it has been a year since my last pappuccino. My doctor is great, very thorough. “She felt me up more than any of my last three lays – combined,” I told That’s Not Chinese.  “At least she didn’t tell you that she could tell you hadn’t been with a man in some time,” That’s Not Chinese responded. “No, she definitely didn’t tell me that.”

A few hours later, Dr. BJ phoned to invite me to watch American Idol at his house. He and his friends are total AI junkies. I thanked him for the invitation and told him I would love to come. “I hope you don’t mind hanging around a lot of gay boys,” he warned. “Girl, please,” I snapped. Literally. I snapped and hung up the phone. Like I told That’s Not Chinese the other night, “Three snaps and I’m done.”

FatGirl was one of the gays in attendance and could not get enough of Jennifer Lopez – he adores her. “Isn’t she pretty?” he asked us. Before any of us could agree he added, “I feel like I’m looking in the mirror.” I was in charge of sweets and had stopped at the local grocer for some cookies. Dr. BJ took the first bite. “Oh, these cookies are hard,” he said while eating the cookie. ” We’ve bought them before and have found when they’re small, they’re hard.” FatGirl giggled.

D-Dog arrived with Casera and they immediately went for the cookies. “They’re hard,” I warned.” “Mmmm, that’s ok,” said D-Dog while savoring the cookie, “I like ’em hard.” “Me too,” said FatGirl. “I wasn’t going to touch that,” said Casera. “Oh, I would,” FatGirl giggled and added, “I’d touch anything that’s hard.” Three (ginger) snaps later and we were all out of there.

Relationship conversations are bound to come up on an all girls trip. While at dinner, in between the gaformon assessment, MyFace was telling us about how she and Handsome Cowboy met. Sleepless asked MyFace how old she was when they met and MyFace replied, “42.” “Oh my God,” said That’s Not Chinese while closing her eyes, placing her hand on her chest, and taking a deep breath, “I have hope.”

Later in the evening, when the others had fallen asleep, Sleepless and I were in the bed chatting it up like two girls at a slumber party – outside of pillow fights, toilet papering and ghost stories, it really was a slumber party. Neither of us sleep much, so we chatted and giggled for an hour or so before finally getting tired enough to say goodnight. The hotel room had a ceiling light that never turned off, just dimmed like a night light, so we could see each other’s faces. “Do you remember when you were in the early stages of a relationship and just staring at your partner’s face while they were sleeping because you still thought they were beautiful?” I asked Sleepless. “No,” she replied. “Hmmm,” I said. “I always did it and was always afraid they might wake up and catch me and, maybe, just maybe, be a little bit freaked out.” “I think it’s cute,” Sleepless sweetly replied.

We finally fell asleep and the next morning I thought I could hear movement in the room. Sure enough, MyFace was up and about. I rolled over hoping to be able to “be cute” with Sleepless, only to find she was one step ahead of me. Sleepless was just laying there staring and smiling. “Oh man,” I told her, “You beat me to it!” She laughed and said, “I’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up. My right ear even fell asleep.” “Sorry about that, I’m glad you still think I’m beautiful,” and then I tilted my head to the side (this is my version of the ‘wink’) and added, “You’re a good friend to pretend to want to watch me sleep.”

As we were headed home, my good friends were there for me again when I would switch the heat over to air conditioning while they were bundled up in blankets, their coats, my coat, scarves and anything else they could find to stay warm. “Sorry about that ladies,” I apologized and added, “There is hope. In a few minutes this hot flash will subside and I’ll turn off the air.” Then, as though it was scripted, Wilson Phillips started playing on the stereo, ‘Don’t you know things can change. Things’ll go your way. If you hold on for one more day…..’ So many opportunities for hope and change – love, sleepwatching, climate – the list is endless.

Last year, MyFace and I took an impromptu road trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. It was at this time, that we decided to make it an annual activity. So, with no reservations other than a hotel room, we loaded up my car, and picked up That’s Not Chinese, Sleepless and Lola.

Being that the National Weather Service had issued blizzard warnings and the like, MyFace felt my car (a ‘sport utility vehicle’) would be the best to take. As we were one hundred miles or more into the journey she said, “I’m so glad we are in a four-wheel-drive vehicle.” “Oh, this isn’t four-wheel-drive,” I told her. “Front wheel with ECT.” “What?!?!” she asked with great surprise. “Really? Oh great. What is ECT?” “We should be fine, maybe,” I replied. “And I have no idea what ECT is – maybe extra control traction – all I know is I push the button sometimes and it makes me feel better about the road conditions.”

As we continued on our way we turned the road trip into a safari of sorts. Pointing out the wildlife as though we were trained biologists. “Oh look,” said Sleepless as we were driving by the river, “There’s a duck, no a goose. No. What is that?” “It’s a pheasant,” MyFace advised. A few miles later we were near a rest area and saw a large furry animal run across the road. “Look, look,” I said while pointing at the animal. “It’s a fox.” “Are you sure?” asked Sleepless. “No, I’m not sure. I think it is actually a wolf.” “It is a dog,” advised That’s Not Chinese. Should we need extra cash to offset the cost of our travels, we fully plan to be wildlife guides.

As we got closer to our destination we began discussing the plans for the evening. They were simple: check into the hotel, grab a drink and appetizer, shop, go to dinner, and go to the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar. MyFace was sharing the bar stories from last year when Lola piped up. “We shouldn’t have any problem attracting men. I’ve got radar for the ’emotionally available’.” “I’ve got unemployed covered,” said Sleepless. “If they smoke dope they’re drawn to me,” added That’s Not Chinese. “Infidelity is my specialty,” I said and then clarified, “I mean, I can find the unfaithful, no problem!” “Wow,” said MyFace, “I’m not sure what to say, except, I’m married.”

Once we arrived at the restaurant Lola spotted a table of men who were of interest to her. “I’m going to sit over here so I can see them,” she said while positioning her chair in their direction. “Those men are gay,” said That’s Not Chinese. “No way, they are not gay,” said Lola with great defiance. “They are metro.” “Not metro, gay,” That’s Not Chinese affirmed. “Maybe they’re foreign or mormon,” I added. “Gay, foreign or mormon. Or gaformon – a gay, foreign mormon. Like duck, duck, goose, pheasant, but gay, gay, foreign, mormon.”

I was given the assignment to invite them to join us at the bar and, while doing so, assess their sexual preference. I walked over, made the invitation and started chatting with them. Within minutes I was enjoying a lovely beverage, courtesy of them, discussing the benefits of the library, and still unsure of their sexual orientation. The only clarification I had was that they were not foreign (unless you count Canadian as foreign). Lola had quickly joined me while the others remained at our table. The guys were trying to get the other girls to join us for a digestif, but they were deep in conversation. “Why aren’t your friends coming over here?” they asked me. MyFace and That’s Not Chinese were doing a lot of communicating with their hands and I was unable to get their attention, so I responded, “They’re deaf.” In order to prove my point I, on the sly, flipped off That’s Not Chinese. She immediately and boldly returned the gesture, however, it appeared as though she was just flipping off the gaformons. “See,” I told them.

And with that we were off to the bar for more games of duck, duck, goose, pheasant, gay, gay, foreign, mormon.

Dr. BJ treated That’s Not Chinese and I to an evening of self-inquiry with a famous author and speaker. I love to learn and I love to spend time with these two birds, so I was excited. As That’s Not Chinese and I were driving to the hotel to meet Dr. BJ, Disdain, and others, I was sharing my thoughts about motivational speaking and the like with her aunt, Spider Bite, “I’m not really into spirituality and forgiveness,” “No. No, she is not,” That’s Not Chinese concurred.

 

That’s Not Chinese, Spider Bite and I arrived at the workshop in time to complete our worksheets. The speaker was inviting people to share what they had written and, then, ‘do the work’. This is usually something one would do own their own, but it’s not very often you get to do therapy with a group of 200 and, if you’re histrionic, this is like heaven.  The first five or six were good, even interesting. We learned who upset them, what they want to have happen, and what they thought of the person who upset them. After sharing these intimate details they had to get even more intimate, and ‘do the work’, by answering a very simple question about each of these things: ‘Is it true?’ Only ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers were accepted. The idea was to learn to accept and own your role in your thoughts.

 

Near the 7th or 8th moment of truth, it ‘started’ to get a bit off and I was longing for a cameo appearance by Matt Foley. An artist stood up and expressed her anger with a local dance company for covering her artwork with a storage cart. “My picture was hanging on the wall and they rolled a storage cart right in front of it.” This ‘rolling’ behavior was very upsetting to her and she was having a hard time finding a ‘positive’. We were having a hard time deciding which SNL character she looked and acted like. “Molly Shannon for sure,” said Dr. BJ. I was leaning more towards Julia Sweeney.

 

“A lot of these people are total wingnuts,” That’s Not Chinese whispered to Spider Bite and I. “Hey, this is cheaper than a copay for them, so they’re taking advantage of it,” I advised. Toward the end. a man stood up and began to share the fact that he didn’t like when his wife was mean to him. Lucky for his wife, and all of us, she happened to be with him at the workshop. The speaker called them both on stage and asked him to tell her the ‘whats,’  – pretty much give her the ‘what for’. A true Jerry Springer moment.

 

As they made their way to the stage we all came to the conclusion that this may not end well. “Look at her,” said Spider Bite, “She is not happy about this at all. She is like a shapeshifter – soon  to turn into a spider and bite him.”

 

As we were laughing about this exchange and some of the people in the room –  yes, we’re assholes – two  women, seated two rows ahead of us, turned to look at us with disgust and one said, “You should probably go,” while making a hand gesture as if she was waving us away. “Those two ladies don’t know that Dr. BJ rolled a storage cart in front of the exit and we can’t leave.” It was true. Dr. BJ bought us the tickets and we could not leave until at least two other fat, crazy, and just released from the penitentiary, ladies finished singing. “They (the women with the hand gestures) need to do the work, see what it is they don’t like about their thoughts, and keep us out of it,” I added.

 

A few minutes later, Dr. BJ ‘rolled the cart away from the exit’ and we ran out of it. Free to be in our own minds and out of the minds of those who were out of their minds.

Spelling is so crucial. One or two wrong letters and you’ve got an entirely different situation. Same goes with comments. The Responsible One and I are in the process of collecting double entendres often used in the workplace. We’ve decided to do this because we find great pleasure in taking things in at least two different ways. Although we are aware of the fact that there is a rare variation of the double entendre, known as the triple entendre, neither of us are into three ways – as risqué as we may be, we are also very straightforward.

When The Responsible One first proposed this idea to me it took me a while to get back to her. “Sorry about the delayed response,” I told her. “I got waylaid by someone in the hall.” “No worries,” she responded, “I hope this won’t put you in a difficult position.” “No position is too difficult for me,” I replied. A little while later The Responsible One phoned to tell me about some rumors that had been spreading around the office like a STD. “You know what they say about loose lips,”she told me. “All too well,” I answered. “I just want you to know I’m not the only one who appreciates the fact that you are both open and flexible,” The Responsible One advised me.

I’ve no doubt our double entendre compilation will get off to a great start – hard not to being that The Responsible One is a cunning linguist.