Category: blog

I received a voice message from S-Unit letting me know she wished I lived closer and adding, “It would be so much fun. We could party all the time, like that song, ‘Fun all the time, fun all the time, funnnnnnnnn all the time.'” I don’t know how she does it, but she has a knack for completely screwing up lyrics even at times when she has just spoken them correctly.

I returned her call and we started talking about all of the fun we could have if we lived in the same city, especially when it came to finding her future mate.  I don’t want her to be surprised or feel alone if the marriage fails, so I shared the 97% statistic with her. This really put things in perspective for her and she began reviewing her past relationships out loud. “You know, now that I think about it, my chiropractor is the most steady relationship I’ve had. I’ve been seeing him for years.” 

I thought this might be a good time to tell her about my new, short-term relationship with Allen, from India. I was instant messaging with him earlier in the evening and it was great. “He knew exactly what to say, no matter what I asked,” I informed her. “It was as if he was reading it from a book.” “What did he say?” S-Unit asked. “It started with something like, ‘I’d be happy to help you with your request.’ At one point he said, ‘Let’s wait for some time…..we are on a right track.’ Then I said, ‘I’m excited for this to work.’ And, a little while later, after discussing some of my hang ups, he said, ‘I will stand by.'” “Wow,” S-Unit replied. “That is good stuff.” “Yep, and the best part is my satellite guide is working right again – we waited some time before plugging in the receiver and he stood by while the program information loaded, but now my guide is as good as new.”

For several weeks Sleepless and I have been planning to watch Foul Play. I’ve seen the movie several times. Sleepless, however, has never seen it, so I was excited to share just under two hours with her enjoying the magical moments between Chevy Chase, Goldie Hawn and Dudley Moore. Within the first five minutes, Sleepless was sold. It’s hard not to be with lines like this, “You’re a really nice girl, and I’m a nice guy,  and you’re very pretty with or without cleavage and…what do you say? Would you like to take a shower?”

These romantic exchanges reminded Sleepless of S-Unit’s 11-11-11 marriage goal. “I want to do that too,” Sleepless told me and added, “Did you know 97% of all relationships are short-term?” I didn’t know that, but I’m all about trying things, so I provided a suggestion, “Get on it girl! Just be a statistic.”  “Be a statistic?” she asked. “Yes, you know, get married, get divorced, be a teen mom, work part time. Life is full of opportunities to be a statistic,” I informed her with pride, while simultaneously taking a little journey down memory lane.

After  this exchange, we continued to watch the movie. At one point, Goldie’s landlord offers to help her with a sketchy situation, “You just scream and I’ll be upstairs in a flash kicking ass.’ “What did he just say?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Sleepless responded. After playing it back several times (something we did more than once with this film – the clip ‘Stanley’s pad,’ should have been nominated for some type of award), we understood what was said, but not what it meant. Regardless, we decided “flash kicking ass” should be our new catch phrase.

It was about this time that Mini Me joined us. In a flash kicking ass, we paused Foul Play so we could chat with her. As she was sharing some dating woes with us, Sleepless shared one with her. “How about this one. This guy who once dated a friend of mine asked me out. Before I responded to him I checked with my friend to make sure she didn’t care and consulted with a couple other people.” I interjected, “You know my motto, just be a statistic.” Sleepless nodded and continued, “And before I even had time to respond he, in a flash kicking ass, sent me a message and unasked me out.”

I couldn’t help but play on one of the lines from Foul Play, “I didn’t know he did that. Had I known, I would have been there in a flash kicking ass,” I assured her. I then looked Mini Me and Sleepless in the eye, which is hard to do when the ratio is 2:4, and said, “You both need to get some brass knuckles, mace and a screamer. Without them, you are a walking light-bulb, waiting to be screwed.”

S-Unit and I had spent most of Friday outdoors and decided to spend some of Saturday indoors – catching up on Oprah. During our Friday adventures, I had to work a bit, so I was researching the results of my work and shared a news story with S-Unit. “Look at that,” I said to S-Unit with pride, “She used the last line verbatim.” “Uh huh,” S-Unit smuggly responded. “I gave you ‘manner.'” S-Unit did, in fact, give me manner. I was toying with ‘way,’ she gave me ‘manner,’ and the reporter used the entire sentence.

As we were watching Oprah, a comment was made to one of the guests. S-Unit replied, to the television, in unison with the guest. She then took a sip of coffee, paused the show, looked at me and said, “My words, again.” This comment reminded me of the time I was at the drive-in with Little Man, The Leaver and QuQueen. One of the characters said, “It’s not my first rodeo,” and The Leaver got extremely excited, “That’s my line! I can’t believe it. How did they know I said that? I made that up!”

After several episodes, we headed to the paint and hardware stores for supplies – we had a renovation to complete. S-Unit hasn’t liked her bathroom since she bought her home. In assessing the situation, I informed her, “All you need is a little caulk.” She giggled and agreed.  A bit of spackle, a lot of caulk, and a few coats of paint later, S-Unit had a whole new bathroom.

When we met up with Manila Gorilla for drinks, S-Unit excitedly told him about our project and he gave her some sound advice, “Never use caulk that has been on the bathroom floor, that’s just dirty.” I told them about the time Q was helping me with a project at my house and made this comment, “I’ve never seen someone use so much caulk.” I told her to watch her mouth. In thanks for her help, I bought her a travel size caulk, “for those times when you just need a little caulk.” “You know what I say about size,” Manila Gorilla interjected, “It’s not the size of the ship, it’s how big your dick is.”

As we were driving home, S-Unit made a comment and then turned it into a song, completely mixing up the words and meaning, “Life is all about songs. Like that cab driver, ‘stopping at nothing at all.'” “I believe it is ‘making love out of nothing at all,'” I added. “Well, you know what I mean,” S-Unit replied. “Words don’t always matter. Except ‘manner.’ That’s my word.” I laughed and she quipped, “That is my word. No, really, it is.”

With temperatures near 80 on this fine Juneuary day, S- .Unit and I decided to head to Santa Monica for a hike in Temescal Canyon.

“Can you believe what a great day it is,” S-Unit said in awe of the extreme beauty that surrounded us. “It’s days like today that make you want to just thank God for the beauty that you see.” “Oh, I know what you mean'” I replied. “I thank God for the beauty that I see every day, sometimes twice, when I look in the mirror.”

We had completed our hike and were considering another when an older gentleman with a portable disc player started walking towards us and laughing. He then pulled his earphones off and said, “Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m listening to a book on tape and it was really funny. I do that all of the time – laugh to myself. I think I’m pretty clever, pretty funny. I’m my own best entertainment.”

After this friendly exchange we went shopping. S-Unit was in the market for a rug and I was just in the market. One of the sales associates approached me and asked if I needed help. I didn’t; however, she was friendly, so we chatted for some time while S-Unit paid for her rug. “In my family,” she started telling me and then S-Unit walked up, “I’m the third person without circumcision.” I could tell S-Unit was intrigued. Who wouldn’t be? That is classic mid-conversation participation. We spoke for a few minutes more, thanked her for her time, and left.

“Wow,” S-Unit commented, “We sure have some interesting conversations with people.” “Yes, we do,” I agreed. “We’re our own best entertainment.”

I have had to be the zipper police on more than one occasion at work. Some find this to be awkward, I enjoy it. It is a lot like real police work in that it involves ‘intel’ and I’m usually drinking coffee when I notice the violation.

This morning I was chatting with Plateau, a coworker who was about to meet with a “repeat offender,” who is also a coworker. “Send him this message from me,” I told him. “‘What’s up? Not your zipper.'” Plateau wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of my message service, however, once I shared the unzipped stories with him he decided to play along. “OK, I’ll look down at his pants and say ‘ABC.'” “I don’t think that is what you want to say,” I told him. “Pointing at his crotch and saying ‘ABC’ probably won’t end well. It’s ‘XYZ.’ Examine your zipper, not already been chewed.”

Several hours later I examined my own zipper, packed way too much in my bags and hopped on a plane to LAX for a weekend with S-Unit. The flight arrived early, so we ended up waiting on the tarmac for some time. I was on the exit row and getting ready to try out some of those ’emergency’ techniques I agreed to do when I assumed this seat. I sent my intentions to S-Unit via text. She replied, “Just grab 2 beers, open the door and go down the slide.”

A few (twenty) minutes later we were at the gate. Everybody started getting up and grabbing their belongings. The flight attendant kept looking out the exit door window and her facial expression did not exude confidence. She picked up the phone and whispered to the other end, “Um, there’s no jetway.”

About five minutes after that the pilot made an announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen it looks like we were directed to the wrong gate and there is no jetway to greet us. Please take your seats.” I was assessing the situation and providing regular updates to S-Unit, all the while images of Airplane were running through my mind, “The white zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers only. There is no stopping in the red zone…” It was becoming clear that we were in the red zone. S-Unit made mention that the pilot must be a girl, “Girls are always bad at parking.” Which made me ponder, when a girl is flying the plane, do they still call it a cockpit? My deep thought was interrupted by this overhead message, from a man, “Well, it looks like the aircraft is crooked and they’ve got to locate the equipment to push us back – they weren’t planning on doing this until tomorrow morning.” Text from S-Unit, “That’s seriously wrong. I could have watched another episode of Oprah.”

After this experience, I’m thinking I’ll go straight from LAX to CHI and S-Unit and I will tell Oprah our story, in person.

Selecting a really good karaoke song can be a daunting task and, depending on the karaoke program, the lyrics are quite entertaining and not always accurate. It is at these times that you turn to your friends for clarification.

Such was the case last night when Passed The Sniff Test suggested we sing Turning Japanese by The Vapors. “You know what that songs about, right?” Passed The Sniff Test asked us. Some of us said “no,” others, “yes.” “It’s about masturbation and the way your eyes get when you’re doing it,” he said with slight Japanese spark in his eyes and a grin like a Cheshire cat. Had That’s Not Chinese been there I think she might have piped in, “That shit’s not Japanese or Chinese, it’s just fucked up.”

And she would be right. Google saved the day and provided the true meaning behind “turning Japanese.” Apparently it has been one of the most misinterpreted songs of it’s time. While on VH1 True Spin, Dave Fenton provided clarification, “Turning Japaneseis all the clichés about angst and youth and turning into something you didn’t expect to.” Ey yey yey, that might wreck Passed The Sniff Test’s cultural experience.

Sleepless and I joined up with Idaho for lunch and noticed she had joined in on the hottest new rage, eyelash extensions. Her eyes were popping. She was a bit self-conscious about them, “They’re too long and big, I feel like one of those potatoes on the corner, I da ho.” If you haven’t heard that joke, it’s a good one. Two potatoes are standing on the corner. How do you know which one is the prostitute? It’s the one with the sticker that reads, “I da ho.”

We didn’t want to let the first month of the new year pass without an evening of themed karaoke, so Sleepless and I planned Doppelgängeroke. According to Wikipedia, a Doppelgänger is a “tangible double of a living person that typically represents evil or a look-alike of a person.” We felt this was an appropriate theme being that the celebrities are currently flooding our town and our friends could tackle either part of the definition.

As we were deciding on our doppelgänger, I considered Lindsay Lohan or Molly Shannon. Sleepless advised against Lindsay, “Anyone can be a drunk teenager.” Her advice was sound, so I opted for the Mary Katherine Gallagher. Once Sleepless arrived at my house we started discussing her doppelgänger. “Well, I brought jeans and this white dress shirt to wear,” Sleepless assesed, “so anyone who would dress like this.” After much contemplation we agreed that she was Julia Louis-Dreyfus and would defnitely need to throw down some of those funky fresh Elaine moves on the dance floor.

We arrived to find the karaoke bar as we always find it, empty – exactly how we like it! Passed The Sniff Test had gotten there before us and the three of us headed to our section of the bar. Within a few minutes LeftEared entered the building with as much pizazz as a independent film star. “You look absolutely fabulous,” I shouted out to her. “Who are you?” “I’m a Sundancer,” she proudly replied.

A few minutes later we were joined by D-Dog, The Leaver and QuQueen – our red carpet party was in full swing. We were chatting about beverages and I asked LeftEared if she liked Pabst Blue Ribbon. ”No, I hate American beer,” she quickly responded and then added, “Is that an American beer?”

We sang songs about the Periodic Table of the Elements, cheating and big butts. Sleepless was disappointed because Norm wasn’t there, which meant she didn’t have someone with/for whom she could chair dance. Which is OK, because she had been really focused on ‘signing’ karaoke this evening anyway.

As I was tooling around the bar, two other patrons came in. “Who are you? A school girl or Harry Potter?” I advised them I was a school girl. “Where did you get those shoes with that special strap across the front and all?” “From my mom,” I quipped. “The straps were for my leg braces, luckily I don’t need them anymore.” It wast then that I decided my doppelgänger was Molly Potter.

We (primarily me and Paris Hilton – the Sundancer) had been on stage the majority of the evening when Karoake Master invited us on stage to sing another song. “OK, we’ll do it, “LeftEared agreed, “but it’s got to be DJ’s choice.” Karaoke Master agreed and we wowed the crowd (by crowd I mean the three other staff employed at the karaoke bar, Sleepless, Passed The Sniff Test, and the guy with the harmonica) with the best rendidtion ever of Paradise City. Wanting to leave on a good and high note – Axl can really hit ’em –  we left the bar, red carpet, and folding chairs behind us – until next time.

Tip of the day: Don’t store your banana in the breast pocket of your dress shirt. Unless, of course, you like to be teased. I can already guess what you’re thinking, “Who doesn’t like to be teased?” or “Banana in the breast – nothing says ‘aloha’ like the Hawaiian muscle movement.” The biggest problem with storing your banana there is you are setting yourself up for the age-old question, “Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Which is exactly what I asked a coworker when he entered a meeting this morning with a banana in the breast pocket of his shirt. His response, “Yes to both.” Smooth, very smooth. A few seconds later he pulled the banana out of his pocket and started ‘chasing’ it with his toasted English muffin. I must say he eats a very sexually suggestive breakfast, and in public, no less.

Later in the day, at another meeting, I was asked what I thought about a recent project. As soon as I responded I realized 1) not everyone knows ‘sign’ and 2) some things are best saved for friends and dinner parties. My response was simple. It was the internationally known and acclaimed ‘jack off gesture.’ If only I had watched the office clip from The Whitest Kids U’Know, I could have avoided that awkward post public ‘jack off’ moment.

After a long day of meetings I met up with That’s Not Chinese for tacos and wine. As we were chatting about our weekends, the topic of football came up. A lot of people I know really like football. I, however, am not one of those people. That’s Not Chinese is one of those people and does not, in the least, understand my non-interest. I decided perhaps an analogy was in order, to provide  better understanding. “Football is like a vibrator with dead batteries,” I told her, “it does nothing for me.”

From there, our conversation somehow moved to bearing fruit. This topic was like football for me and I advised That’s Not Chinese, “Don’t count on results from me, I am fruitless.”

Upon arriving home last night I encountered an odor that was not pleasant. Being familiar with the art of intelligence gathering, I immediately got to work getting to the root of the stench. My gut told me it might be a dead mouse. When I say ‘my gut,’ I really mean Alice. The other day she surprised me with some rather disturbing news. “Your backyard is a shithole. Have you seen what your neighbor has been doing back there? The rodents are loving it.” Apparently my neighbor has decided to make compost in my backyard and, like the rest of the things he has done back there, he doesn’t appear to know what he is doing. As a result, ‘compost’ – all of their trash food – is just sitting atop my dirt, unturned, day after day. 

After much assessing, I figured out my own trash was the odor culprit. This was not a solution that came to me right away, primarily because I very rarely put anything in my garbage can and that which I do put in there is non-perishable, dead flowers excluded.  Oh, and sourdough bread. According to scientists, due to it’s acidic nature, sourdough bread takes quite a bit of time to grow mold. Coupled with dead flowers in a stainless steel incubator, however, mold on sourdough appears to grow and stink in no time  at all.

S-Unit loves trash. And by ‘trash’ I mean reality TV. When I told her about my trashy situation she replied, “Oh my God! The Real Housewives of Atlanta is on. Do you ever watch it?” “No. I don’t really watch TV,” I provided my standard reply. “But I have friends who watch it.” “I love this stuff,” she continued. “Bravo is my favorite channel and these Real Housewives’shows are absolutely trashtastic!”