Category: blog

Ah, Valentine’s Day. That time of year when so many people long to be in a relationship and so many others long to be single or, as one friend so eloquently put it, “a little less involved.”

 

S-Unit is someone who is not currently in a relationship and isn’t actually longing for one. She is still, however, planning on getting married on 11-11-11. Several days ago, she and I were talking about upcoming holidays. “When is Valentine’s Day?” asked S-Unit. “February 14, same as it is every year,” I answered. “No, I mean when is it? How many days away? I always break up with people a few days before holidays like Valentine’s Day and Christmas.”

 

A recent study indicates S-Unit is not the only person with this idea. According to David McCandless and Lee Byron, holiday break-ups are the norm. Stress and family seem to be common denominators when it comes to cause and December and March are the months with the highest number of break-ups. Apparently, Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, and my favorite holiday, National Corndog Day, can really take a toll on a relationship.

 

Being a single female, I can understand the pressure one might feel when they’ve only got one PBR coozie and five boxes of corndogs. It really is impossible to share a coozie. And who wants to be judged by the size of their corndog collection?

 

I’m not one who minds being alone – on Valentine’s Day or any other day. Don’t get me wrong, I love the company of (most) others. I also love my company. As I’ve told one or two (or maybe more) people before, “I’m a good time.”

 

For example, the other night, after a full day with That’s Not Chinese, I returned home and, apparently, continued to let the good times roll. When I woke the next morning, I began to find miscellaneous ‘misplaced’ items in various areas of the house. It was when I found the satellite receiver remote control in the bag of Trader Joe’s World’s Puffiest Sour Cream and Onion Corn Puffs that I realized, as a party of one, I really am a good time.

 

In fact, if I were to give myself one of the infamous NECCO conversation hearts today, it would read, “Be Mine.” If I can’t have me, I don’t want nobody baby.

Weekends seem to be the best time to enjoy brunch, replace the water filter on your fridge, and have ‘the help’ move your exes belongings out of your basement. Being the domestic goddess that I am, I prepared breakfast tacos for MiniMe and I this weekend. As we were eating, I was discussing The Baby-Sitter’s Club and mentioned one of my favorite descriptions from the series, “Abby only likes two things about Valentine’s Day, and romance isn’t one.” I find this line incredibly well written – very funny – and I couldn’t stop laughing. MiniMe, in a solelmn voice, said, “Sometimes I think the reason people think you are so funny is because you laugh at your own jokes.” “A-ha,” I replied, “So if I laugh, they’ll think what I said must have been funny?” “Yes,” MiniMe said while rolling her eyes and finishing brunch.

After brunch I headed to That’s Not Chinese’s house to provide support while her exes belongings were being moved out of her basement. The belongings had been there for some time, about a year. Over the last few months, one of her cats has taken to sleeping, spraying and peeing on some of these belongings. Thus, the basement was not a place I planned to frequent. Nor did That’s Not Chinese, MyFace, Dr. BJ or Meat Lover – the Gods of the household were, as they say in the hip hop scene, in da house.

Being that we are in the throws of Chinese New Year, it seems fitting that we were all there for That’s Not Chinese – especially Zao Jun. I’m not sure which one of us was Zao Jun, per say. I would suggest me, because I made breakfast this morning, but I am holding out for another God position. If you don’t know the story of Zao Jun, you should definitely research it. Without giving too much away, be careful of what you throw into the kitchen hearth – you may only be able to salvage one leg and it may belong to Zhang Lang.

That’s Not Chinese’s ex was not present and had solicited help (or as Dr. BJ and I referred to them, ‘the help’) from her friends. One of  ‘the help’ happened to be an ex of Dr. BJ. He wasn’t a nice guy, hence the reason he is an ex. Dr. BJ and I took our regular position, on the stoop, and chatted about life while watching ‘the help’ move the belongings into the moving van. We were definitely Qiye and Baye – the famous Chinese Gods who are  best friends and giants, literally, in street parades. As we were throwing a few parade waves to the help, That’s Not Chinese approached us laughing, “You’re gonna love this one, your ex (Dr. BJ’s that is) just said, ‘You know, this would be a lot easier if those two (Qiye and Baye) would help.'” Dr. BJ and I gave an exaggerated laugh, complete with a long throw back of the head and neck. “Ain’t nothing wrong with wanting,” Dr. BJ quipped.

It was about this time that Meat Lover and MyFace joined us on the porch. “It really stinks down there,” said MyFace. “I know,” said That’s Not Chinese with a Cheshire cat grin. “Don’t gloat, it’s not good,” said Meat Lover. “It’s fine,” said MyFace, “But it is a little passive aggressive. You need to move from passive aggressive to aggressive, I mean assertive. I have a black belt in karate.” Personally, I think pissive aggressive is more fitting.

As the Gods of That’s Not Chinese’s household each went their separate ways, she was left with a sense of gratitude, good fortune, empty champagne glasses, and Zhang Lang’s Leg.

I’ve been getting a couple of babysitting gigs (saving up to buy a bike) lately and I always call upon MyFace and OregganO for assistance. Our primary patron is Q, although today Sleepless also took advantage of our adult version of The Baby-Sitter’s Club – Ann M. Martin would be very proud.

Little Sleep arrived before Baby Q and was touring the ‘clubhouse’ with MyFace. While doing so she informed MyFace that she has not slept well the past two nights due to paranormal activity. MyFace was very impressed with Little Sleep’s knowledge of  such activity and the proper words to describe it.  “Where are the noises coming from?” she asked. “I don’t know,” responded Little Sleep with a slight shoulder shrug and curious eye on the back room, “I guess the house.” Clearly, MyFace had more concerns about this than Little Sleep.

When MyFace finally got a chance to tell me about this exchange, she had forgotten Little Sleep’s verbiage choice. We did a little Nancy Droogling for ‘another word for paranormal’ and came up with nothing. I decided to go to the ultimate source for help, facebook. Incubus and Patrick Swayze were suggested. Sleepless might be glad she is sleepless.

Incubus is a male demon who lays on people while they’re sleeping and has sex with sleeping women – that would explain all of the condom wrappers I find each morning in my bedroom. And Patrick, well everybody knows about him and ghosts. What I don’t know is why my pottery wheel is missing. Could it be Agnes?

Later in the evening I spoke with Sleepless about Little Sleep, “She was electrocuted by paranormal activity and her door opened. Happens often. Just leave the kitchen light on and everything works out.” Just like The Baby-Sitter’s Club, the problem is resolved by the end of the series/blog and in no time at all. Not surprisingly, however, Incubus is kinky and likes the light on – he is a hard ghost to bust, literally.

Pimpin’ is the new black and there is a new lesbian in town. It is for these two very important reasons that That’s Not Chinese, Tree, D-Dog and others decided to go to The Pimps of Joytime. If you aren’t familiar with the band, Derek Rath of NPR sums them up best, “This is funky. It has it all: soul, funk, punk, afrobeat, rap.”

As soon as we walked into the venue our eyes saw the glory of the comeback of disco. Being that there was an opening band, we decided to find a seat and take it all in. Tree was the first to comment on the crowd, specifically, the man in the cargo pants, Birkenstocks and ‘ReNew Orleans’ t-shirt, “These venues are always full of a bunch of funky old liberals getting down.”

As I watched several funky old liberals getting down I noticed a young, rather dapper fellow in a pin-striped suit with an orange, big-collar dress shirt and a pin-striped fedora, “He looks nice,” I said while pointing him out to Tree and That’s Not Chinese. Just like Love Unlimited, I fancy a high steppin’, hip dressin’ fella. A few seconds later, ‘nice’ was no longer in my view. Instead, I saw someone wearing baggy pants and a basketball jersey ‘complimented’ with a sport jacket (he must have misunderstood the term ‘sport’) and  a tan fedora. “Wow,” I said. Tree needed no further information to know what I was wowing about and responded, “Straight guys are so weird.”

It was at this time that That’s Not Chinese interjected, “New lesbian in town.” She was attempting to slyly, major emphasis on slyly, point  out the ‘new lesbian’ who had joined her this evening; however, there was nothing sly about her strong head gesture. It was so strong, in fact, she may end up needing an adjustment. “Best be careful,” I advised, “You don’t want to hurt your pretty little head.”

This brought That’s Not Chinese’s focus back to fashion. “I want a fedora. Everyone has a fedora.” “You want to be like everyone else?” Tree said with disgust while adjusting the brim of his rakish driving cap. “Hey,” I responded with feigned pain because I had just become ‘everyone.’ “Look,” That’s Not Chinese said while gracefully pointing out the everyones, “All of the boys have on fedoras and beanies and afros. I want one.” Not one to follow the crowd or let my friends down, I offered her my fedora. She gladly accepted the offer and, after putting the fedora on her head just so, asked, “What about you? What will you wear now?” “No need to worry about me. I’ve got a real afro, but my pants are suppressing it.”

A little while later we were all out on the dance floor. Disco  dancing comes somewhat naturally for me, primarily because my hands and arms are always moving the opposite direction of my legs and feet. We were trying out all of the moves – the basic disco two-step, the California hustle, the rotation with a side walk, shadow stepping, and the knife in the back (my all-time favorite that was featured on Airplane) – and really tearing up the dance floor. Unfortunately, there were a few times when we were completely offbeat. “I don’t know most of these songs,” Tree told me, “So it makes it hard for me to dance to them.” “Take your time,” I told him, “Don’t give up. Dancing to a song you don’t know is like sex with a new partner – a little uncoordinated every now and again, but still a good time.”

Q and her man have always been there for me. A few years ago I purchased a home that was in need of a few renovations and I enlisted the Q-Team for their help. They were always ready and able, even after Q got electrocuted. On one occasion, Q commented to me about my work, “Wow! I have never seen anyone use so much caulk.” I, of course, replied, “I’ve never heard someone use such language in my house.”

The other day, as I was showering, I was checking out our renovations. As soon as I got out of the shower I sent Q a text message, “Today, in the shower, I was looking at my caulk and thinking of you. Are we still on for lunch?”

After lunch, Q and I went shopping. For one simple reason – the shape of her eyes – a lot of people think Q is Asian. If it weren’t for her other very obvious traits – platinum blond hair, tall, very fair, very white skin – I would understand this misconception.

Q is baffled by the misconception. Being the practical one in the group, I advised her she is, in actuality, half Asian. One half Cauc + one half Asian = CaucAsian. Turns out, not surprisingly, Baby Q is also CaucAsian.

While Q was purchasing some items at the mall, I was tending to Baby Q. A sales associate, who happened to be Asian, approached me. “She is so cute,” she said while admiring Baby Q. “And, she has eyes like me.” “Yes,” I responded, “Her mom is half Asian.”

It’s not uncommon for Sleepless and I to try and help the economy by purchasing beautifully labeled bottles from our local wine store. – last night was no exception. “I was  looking for white zin – don’t tell MyFace – and I couldn’t find it,” Sleepless told me. “In fact, I couldn’t find any boxed wine. So, I just looked for some pinks and whites with pretty labels.” She did very well in her search – the labels were very pretty and the wine definitely hit the spot.

As we were talking about all of the things in life that hit the spot, the Gräfenberg Spot – more commonly known as the ‘g-spot,’ was mentioned. “It doesn’t really exist,” said Sleepless. Me and the Brits in King College London think she is right about this one. Sorry Ms. Whipple, it was a nice concept that you tried to build for us ladies.  In this case, however, Shoeless Joe was absolutely right, “If you build it, he will come.” He will come and she, sadly, will lie in wait, literally.

All of this talk about hits got us in the mood…..for our favorite karaoke bar – a G-Spot that does actually exist and both men and women can find it, regardless of their sexual preference or level of activity. Yes, the bar we frequent starts with a ‘g’ and it is full of hot karaoke hits. It is not, however, very often full of people.

As usual, we were pretty much the only people at the G-Spot  and we were singing  one hot hit after another. Although we don’t personally know the other six patrons, we recognize them and their genre. Which is why it was odd to see a newbie in the mix.  A newbie who really liked eye contact. This was not something that appealed to Sleepless. As the night progressed, so did newbie’s comfort level. He was singing , joining us on the dance floor, and even went so far as to touch Sleepless. Within seconds of that exchange she was whispering in my ear, “Any chance you have some hand sanitizer?” As newbie was singing one of his songs, Sleepless decided to do her chair dance – something she usually reserves for Norm. I decided to join her – something I do because I’m not reserved. “Remember,” she told me, “No eye contact. This is exactly why I don’t strip.” “Me too,” I replied and then Flashdanced the hell out of my chair, with my eyes closed.

As we were summing up the evening, which included some unchivalrous behavior by another patron, Sleepless had a dating epiphany, “We definitely need to date someone either in their 50s or born in the ’50s – someone old enough to understand the value of chivalry.” “Good idea,” I agreed and added, “By doing that, we will have a g-spot. The ‘g’ will just stand for Gramps. Gramps’ spot. I like it . That, Sleepless, is a hit!”

It’s been a couple of days since my last entry. “That’s what he said,” is what S-Unit is probably thinking right now. I’d like to thank everyone who asked about the status of the blog, and by ‘everyone,’ I mean Sleepless. In answer to her question, no, this is not Prince Charming or recession related.  MC Static Cling and I have been working on some back-end issues. Yes, S-Unit, that is what he said.

While down, I learned a lot of interesting facts. Mostly, about angry clowns. I was on a date, talking about my beach cruiser and how I’ve tricked it out with some classic and classy accessories – bell, horn, drink holder. OregganO and I are regular riders, and by ‘regular’ I mean we ride our bikes once a month or so when it is warm outside.

On one fine summer evening we had visitation with a tandem from a previous relationship, so, in Kanye West fashion, we grabbed our shutter shades and our coffee cups and started cruisin’ around town – because we’re down like that.  If you have ever ridden a tandem, you know it requires coordination and, if you’ve ever met me, you know I have none. Thus, I would shout out instructions to OregganO, “Turn, pedal, drink,” in an attempt to ensure a safe and tasty ride.

As I was sharing these details with my date, he found great interest in the bicycle horn. “I’ve got to get a bicycle horn.” He is a musician, so I thought he might want to add it to his other cool bits of equipment, specifically, the cow bell – I was wrong. “No, I need it as part of my tool kit, per say. Have you ever heard of the ‘Angry Clown?'” I hadn’t heard of the Angry Clown and I could tell by the look on his face this was something I would have to Nancy Drewgle later.

Work is probably not the best place to Nancy Drewgle ‘Angry Clown.’ Unless, like me, your goal each day is to see how many times you receive the ‘restricted website access’ message. Not one to give up easily, I Nancy Drewgle’d at OregganO’s house. Looks like the bicycle horn is just one of many accessories needed to do the Angry Clown. Seltzer water, talcum powder and creme pies are also staple to this trick. OregganO and I were dumbfounded by this discovery. How had we not heard of this before and who does something like this? “One,” OregganO commented, “it’s weird. Two, that’s a lot to remember – far too many steps to take.” Even in big ol’ clown shoes, the Angry Clown has way too many steps and it’s a little creepy.  “Well,” I told her, “I’m not doing it. I’m into messin’ around, not clownin’ around.”

While out and about today I decided to buy some pillows for my couch. The pillows came in a set of two and I was only able to find one set. I preferred two sets, but since they didn’t have another, I settled for one and figured I would assess the situation when I got home.

In an attempt to almost fully experience the new pillows, I fluffed all of the cushions on the couch and put the other pillows to the side. I did not, however, take the two pillows – which were tied together – out of their packaging.

A little later on I was chatting with MiniMe and D-Dog when MiniMe posed a question, “Why do you still have those pillows in their packaging?” “I’m not sure I’m going to keep them.” “You should,” MiniMe advised. “They’re cute and your other pillows are, well, they’ve seen better days.” “Easy,” I told her. “Those old pillows are just like me.” “I can’t wait to hear this comparison,” D-Dog excitedly commented. “They may not be the best looking, but they’re really good to cuddle up with, super comfy.”

That probably isn’t the best comparison, but as I looked at the old pillows I noticed some of their bits weren’t where they used to be – the batting bulgedin some places and was non-existent in others. The firm shape they once had is now soft and cooshy. In spite of these signs of aging, the pillows still have a draw. They’re comfy, cozy, easy to wrap your arms around and quickly bounce back into shape when company is coming. Forget being an old hag, I’m going to be an old pillow.

That’s Not Chinese is very happy today – I’ve no doubt – because it is the first day of the month in the lunisolar calender. Which makes today the beginning of Chinese New Year, a very Chinese holiday. Hopefully That’s Not Chinese will follow tradition and pour out the money, presents, food and the like.

 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware of all of the traditions, so I didn’t clean my house in order to sweep away the bad luck. No need to worry, due to a story I heard last year about a broom, I always keep my broom and dust pan out of the way of company. In addition to preventing good luck from being swept away, it just seems like a good idea.

 

I was very aware, however, that it is the year of the Rabbit. How could I not be? There has been a lot of ‘buzz’ about it on the news and near the water cooler. Goodbye Dolphin, hello Rabbit. Both made in China, thus, both very Chinese. Sleepless is pretty sure one of the major battery manufacturers is sponsoring this year’s Zodiac Animal. She may be on to something, literally.

 

To keep with the tradition that I started last year, I decided to celebrate with something Japanese. Last year: sushi. This year: fortune cookies. Regardless of their origin, fortune cookies are delicious and it was truly as if the fortunes were written specifically for the Year of the Rabbit. “Plan for many pleasures ahead; Our first and last love…is self love; The first step to better times is to imagine them.”

 

Confucius say, “This is Chinese. This is going to be a great year. Bzzzzzzzzzz.”

Received a call from a Lord today.  You are absolutely right in what you are thinking, “A Lord? Oh my Lord!” Yes, a Lord called me.  The purpose of his call was to make a clemency request, stat. Now you’re probably thinking, “Pardon me?” No, sorry, not you, he wanted clemency for one of his friends.

While gathering more information, I referred to his friend as an ‘individual.’ The Lord was not pleased. “She is not an individual, a person, a client, or a resident – she is a woman.” Thank the Lord for this clarification. Before ending the call I got the Lord’s contact information – not so I could call him again, rather, so I could alert the authorities. It was at this time that I, for the first time, heard of the use of a colon in someone’s name.  This moment was almost as good as the introduction of Sa5m from Bandslam, “Sa5m, the 5 is silent.”  

The mid-name ‘:’ really got me thinking about punctuation, which got me thinking about flash kicking ass. Turns out Mr. Hennessey, Goldie’s landlord in Foul Play, failed to respect the comma after the word ‘flash.’ “…in a flash, kicking ass,” means something very different than “…in a flash kicking ass.”

A little later in the day I was teaching a class and mentioned I once worked in the prison. After class, and faster than a flash kicking ass, one of the students approached me and asked when I worked at the prison. He then informed me he had “done time – about a year.” This comment allowed me to use one of the Lord’s words, “Were you granted clemency?” “Nah, just did straight time.” Then, just for shits and giggles I said, “Pardon me, but I must be going, stat.”