Category: blog

Last time I spoke with Rusty Rogue Rafael was several months ago, at which time he told me a story about how he professed his love for another, to that another, only to be shot down. He appears to be over that now and was telling me how happy he is with his life. “No kids, no mortgage, good job, good friends, partying all the time.” I told him that all sounded lovely even though we didn’t share the same haves and have nots. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked. “No, no, I’m not,” I answered. “Guess it is a bit hard to meet someone when you only hang around gay men.” “There is that,” I agreed. “You really need to come back over here, meet a European and live happily ever after,” he advised. Definitely something to consider.

Later that day I was with The Responsible One and The Best Dip when a question arose and That’s Not Chinese was the only one who would know the answer. I rang her up and while she was providing the answer, The Best Dip was inquiring about her. At the same time, That’s Not Chinese begin asking about The Best Dip.

Doing as a matchmaking friend does, I queried The Best Dip. “Do you like crime shows?” “Love them!” “Do you like to travel?” “Yes, yes.” “How do you feel about cats?” “Oh geez, I knew this was coming. I don’t have one, but….” “Sorry,” I told her, “I’ve told That’s Not Chinese that she can’t trust or date a lesbian who doesn’t like pussy.” “I should have seen that one coming,” The Best Dip said. “Just because I don’t have one, doesn’t mean I don’t mind petting them if they come around.” I cut her some slack and by the end of the conversation we had visions of her and That’s Not Chinese, donned in CSI sweatshirts and scrubs, sitting on the couch watching DVRed crime shows, That’s Not Chinese sipping wine, The Best Dip drinking beer, and a cat making an occasional appearance.

I shared this visual with That’s Not Chinese who was very excited to find out there is more than one ‘new lesbian in town’ and that she may get to meet her soon, scrubs and all. The joy in her voice and text messages reminded me of Rusty Rogue Rafael’s suggestion. I plan to seriously consider this as soon as I return from coffee with Tree and FatGirl.

The other day I was talking to S-Unit about my inability to get certain things done, specifically laundry.  “It is difficult to choose to do laundry when I’ve got other options, like going out,” I told her. “I have a hard time saying no.” “Uh huh., I know. That’s how you got your reputation,” she quipped.

With ‘no’ on my mind, but not on my agenda, I prepared for Maternity-oke. The Responsible One, Drink Whisperer, Sleepless and I thought a pregnancy theme at karaoke was a swell (literally) idea. “We can drink for two all night,” said The Responsible One. After picking the perfect outfit and adjusting my rollers just so, I grabbed my slippers, stuffed a pillow in my leggings, and made my way. I was fully ‘expecting’ to have a great time!

When I arrived, I found Passed The Sniff Test, dressed in scrubs with a stethoscope, waiting for me at the bar. I sallied up next to him, sliding my bump underneath the bar. Outside of him, Giddy Up (the bartender), and KJ (karaoke master), there were only three other people in the bar. Within a few minutes, D-Dog joined us. Unfortunately, she missed the theme message and was not donning a baby bump. “I’m in my first trimester,” she said, “I may not show for several more weeks.” Smooth.

We took our places at our ‘table’ and were in the midst of selecting theme appropriate songs, “Baby I’m A Want You,” “My Humps,” “Mamma Mia,” “Baby Got Back,” “Mama Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys,” “Papa Don’t Preach,” and the like, when one of the other patrons approached me. “Don’t I know you?” I’ve never seen or met this man and responded, “Yes, we met nine months ago.” This must have been the response he was looking for because he bought “the ladies” drinks. “Don’t you think it is poor taste to buy a pregnant woman a drink?” asked Passed The Sniff Test. “Who am I to judge?” I responded while rubbing my belly and enjoying my Long Island.

We had been there for about thirty minutes when Passed The Sniff Test asked, “Where is everybody else?” “I don’t know. The only thing that should be late tonight is their periods,” I answered. Not only were they late, they completely aborted their plans to attend, citing morning sickness and headaches. Thus, I was the only pregnant one at the party. History does have a way of repeating itself. Luckily, I’m malleable.

Tree and FatGirl soon joined us and the good times were rolling. “You should write this stuff down,” Passed The Sniff Test advised. “I can’t remember,” I replied. “That’s why you should write it down.” “I know,” I said, “but I can’t remember to write it down. Memory loss is common during pregnancy.”

At one point, FatGirl and I took center stage with Passed The Sniff Test. Perhaps we were singing “Doctor, Doctor” by the Thompson Twins . Again, I can’t remember all of the details. I do remember, however, that Passed The Sniff Test tried to pick us up, one in each arm, at the same time. This didn’t go as planned and we were soon lying on the floor. “Good thing your bump is so malleable,” yelled Giddy Up from the bar. “He dropped us like we’re hot,” I yelled back. “We are hot, honey,” FatGirl added. 

Hot we were – a couple of hot messes, to be exact. We decided to head to breakfast, pregnancy cravings get me every time, and Tree was driving. After several minutes on the road, FatGirl told him he was driving like an Asian. “Whatever,” said Tree. The mother in me kicked in and I told FatGirl that was not appropriate. “He has always referred to me as Asian,” said Tree and continued. “It started a long time ago when I first met his little group. There was one black, one Mexican and one white guy. They made me an Asian.” “How did they ‘make you an Asian’?” I asked. “They said, ‘We already have white Doug, Black Shaun and Mexican FatGirl. If you want to hang out with us you have to be Asian Tree.'” See,” said FatGirl, “I’m not racist, I’m just selective.” Racist. Selective. Malleable. Pregnant. Bloated. It is interesting what we  gestate, in our minds and our uteri.

Getting dressed can be a bit of a challenge for me, for a lot of reasons. Sometimes, as I’ve mentioned in the past, it is because my dryer is far too efficient, thus shrinking things that appeared to fit yesterday. The other reason is zippers – they can be a bit of work depending on the location. Zippers on the back seam of a dress are a major challenge. One day, I tried to put on a dress with a back zip and could only zip it halfway. By the time I got it off, because I couldn’t get it up (double entendre for your reading pleasure), I felt like I had just re-enacted the ‘kicking my ass’ scene from Liar, Liar. After that incident, I did some online research for cool inventions designed to assist with situations such as these. The best and only match was Handicapped Equipment – Dressing Aids for the Disabled Can Enhance Independence. My independence is my disability and I am quickly learning that living alone requires a lot of tools. First the rabbit, now the dressing aid stick.

This morning, I got dressed and headed to a meeting which was near one of my favorite coffee haunts. After the meeting I rewarded myself with a lovely ivory mocha, topped with a chocolate covered espresso bean. I like to wait until the bean is melted and then I eat it. I did that this morning and then went about the rest of my morning. After a few stops, I took a look at myself in the mirror and found my boobs also quite liked the chocolate espresso bean – I had melted chocolate all over my chest. Class.

I went home, changed my shirt, and returned to work. As I walked into a meeting one of my coworkers complimented me on my outfit, “You look nice. Did you have a special meeting earlier this morning?” “Thanks. No,” I replied. Although I guess the chocolate on my breasts is, in a way, a special meeting. “You just look so conservative today,” she added. “I got dressed in the dark,” I quipped. I can guarantee the individuals who saw me earlier didn’t think I was the conservative type. After several more hours of relatively conservative behavior, I decided to call it a day. “I’m going home to get pregnant,” I told That’s Not Chinese. “Do it like only you can,” she advised me. And so, as any other independent person would do, I ‘got pregnant’ and headed to karaoke. I’m expecting to have a good time, with or without tools.

FatGirl decided to make his first pork roast and Sleepless and I were some of the privileged few who were invited to partake. Being that he just moved into a basement apartment, he invited his landlords to join us. The landlords live directly above FatGirl, so we were asking them how he was as a tenant. “Can you hear his music playing?” asked Sleepless. “Yes, but it’s not too loud. It’s just a thump, thump.” “What?” FatGirl asked as he was returning from the kitchen and completely misunderstood what was said. “It’s not my music that you hear? Hmmmm. It must be my porn. I sometimes watch porn on my computer but I didn’t realize it was that loud.” Once he realized he had outed himself, he decided it was time we head out.

Sleepless and I then met up with The Responsible One and Drink Whisperer for karaoke at our favorite private club for non-members. As usual, I had ‘reserved’ the entire bar. Drink Whisperer and The Responsible One were new to the bar and, as one might guess, they were proper impressed. Drink Whisperer had ‘prepped’ at home so he would be ready to sing. “Thanks for that bottle of pinot a go-go,” he told me. “It was a small bottle, but a lot of wine.”

Tile soon met up with us and we were selecting songs when Drink Whisperer chose to share some of his feelings, “I hate getting shot. I really do. I’m so sick of it.” Drink Whisperer comes from a family of hunters. “People are assholes. They’re hunting, they get mad or drunk or both and shoot each other,” he informed us. “I’m cool with the lead, but the rock salt, come on.” Being that we weren’t anywhere near hunting grounds, we figured he could put that concern to rest for the night.

We refocused his attention by recommending a duet with The Responsible One. After their duet, The Responsible One sang Alone by Heart. Mid-song, her mic stopped working. Sleepless graciously and quickly offered up her mic. The Responsible One was giving the song all she had when Drink Whisperer attempted to make it a duet. “Stop singing,” she told him with a tight grip on both mics, “you’re throwing me off.”

After hours and hours of hits, we went to a 24-hour restaurant for breakfast. Upon arriving, Drink Whisperer saw some youth in the lobby and began chatting with one of them. Within seconds he was conducting a nystagmus test on him. “You didn’t pass it,” Drink Whisperer told him and advised, “You really shouldn’t be driving. Don’t do it.” “You really shouldn’t be administering nystagmus tests on people right now,” The Responsible One advised him.

We sat down and were greeted by our pregnant server who, for whatever reason, asked Drink Whisperer, “Did you just get out of jail?” “No,” he responded, “but that’s a good question.” I’m not sure that is actually a good question if you’re serving tables. After she walked away I asked, “Is it poor taste to leave a condom as a tip?” “Not at all,” Sleepless stated. A few seconds later, Drink Whisperer held up the condom and asked, “Would it be weird to put this on right now?” “Yes, don’t do it,” The Responsible One advised him and that was our outro.

It was just a year and several days ago, that I started writing my blog. Being a ‘virgin’, I eased into it, took my time. The first entry was short and, as time went on, the entries got longer. A lot like sex.

Looking back at some of my entries (also like sex), I discovered there is far more right than wrong with the past year (this time, not so much like sex). As a result, I decided to celebrate with all of those who have made it in my…….blog.

That’s Not Chinese hosted the party and it was “sponsored” (I’m using this word very loosely) by A Mano Pinot Grigio. Knowing there would be some imbibing, That’s Not Chinese and I decided to eat a little dinner beforehand. When I arrived at her house, I found her in a cream Chinese summer traditional light silk embroidered blouse, with a tank top underneath, black pants, and striped lounge socks. “Shirt, Chinese. Tank top and pants, not Chinese. Socks, Chinese. They love wearing funky socks,” she told me.

By the time we sat down to eat, OregganO had arrived, so she joined us. That’s Not Chinese handed us our plates and plastic ‘party’ forks. “Can we not have real utensils?” I asked. “Oh fine,” she said and handed us each a fork. Without a knife, I wasn’t sure how I was going to eat my pork, however, opted to ‘spear’ it. “Are you just going to eat your pork with a fork like this?” I asked OregganO. She nodded ‘yes’, while doing the same thing. That’s Not Chinese looked up, shook her head and laughed, all the while cutting her pork with a knife. After finishing her finely cut pork, she belched. “Very Chinese to belch after a meal. Or is it Japanese?” she asked – not wanting an answer – and added, “I was born in the year of the boar, I can have pig-like qualities.”

Shortly after dinner, Skiwi and Disco Dancing Dog Groomer (DDDG) made a grand entrance. Like That’s Not Chinese, they were in ‘character’. Skiwi was donning a ski cap, goggles and his bluetooth. Pretty sure the bluetooth is vintage. It looks like a reverse headgear. DDDG was donning a lovely sequined blouse, sexy fur coat, saucy headband in her hair, a pair of scissors and stuffed dog in her hands.

As others arrived with drinks, specifically beer, Skiwi would offer to put them in the fridge, saying, “I’m used to cold climates.” Although not everyone who has been featured in the blog was able to attend, we had good attendance. Sleepless, Dr. BJ, FatGirl, Passed The Sniff Test, Patty Melt, Le Chauffeur (the blog character formerly know as Bus Driver), Disdain, D-Dog, MiniMe, Drink Whisperer, The Responsible One, and some newbies, So Damn Good, The Waiter and Casera.

Several hours into the party we pulled out the karaoke machine and the tunes were flowing! “I haven’t done this since Japan,” said Skiwi, “and I was big in Japan.” OregganO and Sleepless were determined to hit the high score again. “We hold the record at 100,” said OregganO while strutting toward center stage (aka, That’s Not Chinese’s front room). “We don’t have to top ourselves, we’re going out on a high note.” She was right about the high note. According to That’s Not Chinese, she, like the rest of us – D-Dog excluded – had “no business doing karaoke.” At one point, while The Responsible One was singing ‘Blowing in the Wind,” she looked at me and said, “You’re singing off tune.” I took that as a cue to stop singing and start dancing like a white girl. This was pleasing to FatGirl.

About this time, Drink Whisperer had found Sleepless’ butternut squash casserole. “This is delicious. Reminds me of cereal. What cereal does this remind me of? Lucky Charms!” Then, in his standard drink enhanced whisper, he shouted across the room to Passed The Sniff Test, “Hey, have you tried Sleepless’ lucky charms? They’re magically delicious!” Passed The Sniff Test coyly smiled.

After filling his belly with magically delicious goodness, Drink Whisperer was ready to sing. Once he had the mic in hand, he unleashed his inner Metallica. While dancing around the room he started rubbing on one of his nipples, somehow thinking nobody would notice. “Oh yeah, we saw it,” The Responsible One and I said in unison. “You didn’t see it,” he tried to assure us. “Yes, yes we did.” “OK, you did, and it can’t be unseen, ha!”

As is often the case, Sleepless, OregganO and I were the last to leave. That’s Not Chinese was telling us she was tired and was seconds away from sleep when Still Loving You popped up on the karaoke/tv. “Scorpions!” shouted That’s Not Chinese as she jumped off the couch, grabbed the mic and started singing. “This is the best song ever!” She told us while playing a little air guitar and throwing down some flash kicking ass dance moves.

As the last words of the song played, “This can’t be the end. I’m still loving you. I’m still loving you, baby…” We said our goodbyes and made plans to get together again. We couldn’t let this be the end, instead, we made it a beginning of another year of writeous events!

S-Unit and I were talking on the phone the other day and she shared a story with me about her mom. “You know how my mom tells me I need to lose weight?” “No. How?” I ask. “She says, ‘I’m thinking about buying you one of those nice treadmills. The kind you can fold in half and put under your bed.'” I told S-Unit those treadmills aren’t so nice and if she needed confirmation, she should read Three Ts.

A little while later, I attempted to return a call to OregganO and my phone did as it has been doing lately, it called someone I spoke with several calls ago. In this case, S-Unit. After I figured out I had dialed the wrong number, she posed a quick question before ‘getting off,’ “What are your wearing?” I told her that was rather personal. She told me I was an asshole. I told her she was a suppository. She then told me I should start a phone sex career while I’m sick and make some cash to pay for my antibiotics. I thanked her for the advice and told her we would chat soon.

Speaking of things you put places, Skiwi also phoned me the other day and, before I could say hello, he said, “Guess what I’m doing.” I didn’t have a clue and wasn’t falling for that trap again. What is in the air? First S-Unit, now Skiwi. “I’m talking to you on my bluetooth. I still can’t figure out how you can hear me, but that’s a minor detail.” “I hate when people talk on those in public places,” I told him. “I can’t wait to be in a public place,” he said and then, in a slightly quieter tone added, “Sorry, I’m on the phone.” “What?” I asked. “That’s what I’m going to say to people while talking on this in public places. I’m going to point to my ear and whisper that. Very posh. Guess what I’m doing now.” “Still no idea.” “I’m trying on my skiing helmet. Fits great. Not sure how I’m going to push the buttons, but it fits. Also fits under my bike helmet. Lovely. Alright, I’m going to head out and try some other stuff. Try calling me later and ask me what I’m doing.”

I haven’t yet done that. I’m still basking in the visuals from these past two phone calls. I may call him later, when I’m in silk.

While at a hair appointment today I noticed a lot of people getting hair strands/extensions. Some were purple, some were pink, some were feathers. My stylist, Smokonut, informed me, “Everybody comes in telling us they want to look like Kim Kardashian. And I’m like, OK, become Iranian, lose 75 pounds, and then we’ll talk.”

I wasn’t interested in looking like Kim Kardashian, but I was toying with changing my hair a bit. I decided to take some length off and was considering bangs. “I think you should go with sexy and swoopy, ” Smokonut suggested. When I left the salon I realized that I, like the strands/extension peeps, had a brush with fame when it came to my mane, I had been Biebered.

OregganO stopped by and I was sharing this experience with her. I told her about how they styled my hair with the sexy, swoopy just hanging over my right eye. “Seriously,” I told her, “I couldn’t even see out of that eye.” “That’s how they teach us to do it in hair school,” she told me. “Keep one eye covered.”

Both of OregganO’s eyes were uncovered and wide open earlier in the evening when she and her neighbors were outside chatting and a man jumped over the neighbor’s fence, ran toward OregganO’s house, down her driveway, through her backyard, jumped on her swamp cooler (which was on the ground – he wasn’t Superman), and over her fence.

Instead of calling the police, OregganO stuck to her original plan and came to my house for dinner. A few hours into dinner, we decided to file a police report. As a result, we had to go to her house, in case they needed to get a footprint. “This is exciting,” OregganO said while grabbing her keys and running to the door. “This is blogworthy!”

Once at her house we were talking about police response time and, based on past experiences, we felt we had enough time to go outside and take a look at the footprints. “Do you have a flashlight?” I asked. “I’ve got something better,” OregganO said as she came out of the back room with a head lamp on. She went straight to the front door, opened it, and quickly shut it. “Oh shit,” she exclaimed while taking the head lamp off as quickly as possible. “They’re here.”

They were ‘here,’ but luckily they were at the wrong house and didn’t get to see OregganO in all of her crime solving beauty. We got their attention and pointed them in the right direction – OregganO’s backyard. She was relaying the story to them when they asked if she spoke with him at all. “Well, yes, we had words,” OregganO mumbled. “I said something like, ‘What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck out of my yard.’ He turned around, looked right at me and said, ‘Fuck off bitch.'” “Did he have an accent?” asked the officer. OregganO looked confused by the question, “So little was said, it would be hard to tell.” “Pretty sure he was French,” I added.

Once the police left, Cream of Tartar phoned with concerns for OregganO’s safety. He was providing her safety tips and suggested she take the ‘piece out.’ In addition, he wanted her to show me how to use it.  After some time, I decided to head home – leaving OregganO alone. It had been a long day for her and I had a feeling she was ready for a little ‘piece’ and quiet.

LaLa, D-Dog and I decided to go to a Pete Yorn concert. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Pete Yorn, well, I must admit, I’m disappointed.

His voice is amazing. I would give anything if he would just leave a message on my phone so I could listen to it when I’m feeling down and blue and don’t have time to use the work loo.

As soon as he started singing, LaLa was titillated, “I totally have a lady wood.” “A what?” D-Dog asked. “A lady wood,” LaLa reiterated. “Don’t act like you don’t know what that is.” “Oh, I know,” D-Dog replied.

LaLa was giving Pete her full attention and, in doing so, noticed he was wearing a wedding ring. “He’s married,” she said with great disappointment. “That’s not right,” I said, “They should totally disclose that kind of information on the tickets.” “Yeah,” D-Dog added, “Let’s go.”

“I wonder who he married,” LaLa pondered outloud. “Not sure. He did date Winona Ryder once,” I informed them. “Winona Ryder?” asked D-Dog, “The shoplifter?” “Yep, looks like she can steal more than just clothes. She has stolen several hearts,” I responded. “Pete Yorn, Johnny Depp,” said LaLa. “Beck, Conor Oberst,” I continued. “She’s dated some hotties. I’m totally going to start shoplifting.”

After the concert, I decided to do what I often do, Google things. I learned there is a catholic high school called Ladywood in Michigan and they have a ‘Spirit Shop’ with t-shirts, hats and, most importantly, seat pads. If I could steal a seat pad, I would totally have a lady wood, in more ways than one.

Working nine to five after twelve is exhausting. Which is why I enjoy unwinding with my friends. Sleepless and I decided we should do a post VD karaoke event, focused on heartache and pain, so we planned AchyBreakyOke.

Prior to the big event Sleepless and I prepped at my house. This is one of the most crucial parts of the evening because it defines our ‘look’ for the remainder of the night. I was wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt that I had purchased from the thrift store and we decided it would be best if it were sleeveless and if Sleepless wore the sleeves. Within minutes we were trendsetters. As I was standing in the kitchen in my sleeveless plaid shirt and underwear, getting ready to don my denim overalls, a solicitor approached the front door and got full view. “Oh shit,” I told Sleepless. “I’ve got to remember to not change in the kitchen. Do you mind getting that?”

As soon as we arrived at the bar we were welcomed by I Was A Stripper and New To This. We made our way across the empty dance floor (and bar) to ‘our table.’ A few minutes later we were graced with the presence of LeftEared who was donning a lovely ruffled plaid shirt, tucked into white, high-waist (aka, ‘mom pants) Carhartt painting pants, accessorized with a thin belt, gold chain and ‘achy breaky’ heart pendant.

Sleepless and I were on stage singing Jolene (for the record, we’ve been singing this long before the Grammy peeps) when MyFace, Tile and The Leaver joined in the festivities. As was the case with I Was A Stripper, they all needed ‘at least one drink’ before hitting the mic. Several one drinks later, LeftEared and I were on stage singing and throwing down some dance moves when I Was A Stripper approached the stage. By approached I mean she crawled up on all fours, sashaying in a way only she could, while still on all fours. A few seconds later we were all three on the floor of the stage and LeftEared experienced a first, “Did you see that?” she asked me. “Oh yes, I saw it – everyone saw it.” LeftEared, in shock, continued, “She totally tuned in Tokyo on my tit. That hasn’t happened since I was 21.”

I was discussing our performance with MyFace and telling her it was hard to be sexy when dancing next to I Was A Stripper. “I noticed,” she said and added, “Especially in those outfits. Sexy ain’t happenin’.”

By this time One And Done had shown up with a boy she met on Match. “Date number two tonight,” she told us. “And you brought him to this?” LeftEared asked. “Bold move, I like it.”

One And Done, like I Was A Stripper, also has previous dancing experience – she was a clogger for years. *NSYNC started playing and LeftEared advised us, she too was a dancer, “I followed this band for years – I know all of the moves.” As she was busting a few moves and we were all following along, her zipper was busting down. “They don’t make cotton like they used to,” she told us. “Seems like it just keeps getting tighter and tighter.” I Was A Stripper decided to help by completely unzipping LeftEared’s pants, laughed for a minute, and then zipped them back up. “Pretty sure she may have caught some of my short and curlies,” said LeftEared.

As Sleepless was debating her signature chair dance, I Was A Stripper stole the stage and the chair with a few moves she learned in the Army. We all watched in awe, some even placed dollar bills in her pants and top. As she was walking off the stage she came up to me, giggled, and said, “I have gas. I have been farting all night.”

And that is one of the many reasons we love I Was A Stripper, she brings sexy back, gas and all.