Category: blog

As most people know, I’m not one to sugarcoat things, neither is The Leaver. Yesterday, while hanging at the New York Lounge, one of the other patrons started chatting with us. “So you guys are in film?” “Yes,” The Leaver responded. “Where are you based?” “Here and LA,” The Leaver remained on cue. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Marcia Gay Harden?” the patron asked The Leaver. In unison, we both asked, “Who?”

As OregganO will tell you, I am not good with names or faces, especially when it comes to celebrities. After some additional clues from the patron (who, as it turns out, is the sponsor of the lounge…..if only I could remember his name) and a quick Google search, we realized who this Marcia character is and that she and The Leaver share some similar features. I was impressed with the resemblance and thought it to be a compliment. The Leaver did not share these feelings. “Ew, really? I’m not seeing it,” said The Leaver. “Really?” the  patron sponsor continued. “I think the resemblance is uncanny.” “I think it is because I literally just woke up, didn’t sleep much last night and haven’t showered,” The Leaver honestly replied. “I’ll have to let her know how you feel about her looks,” patron sponsor quipped, “she is my good friend.”

Today,as I was driving to visit Dr. BJ and Disdain, I gave Dr. BJ a quick call to see what he was doing. Not one to sugarcoat or mince words, I got straight to the point/purpose of my call,  “what are you doing?” He responded and I repeated his response, “You’re brown sugaring?” “No,” he laughed, “I’m outside smoking, but I like the sound of that better and plan to start doing that from now on.” As the night progressed, so did the brown sugaring. If I couldn’t find Dr. BJ, I would shout out, “Where are you?” He would reply, “Brown sugaring.” When I asked Disdain what made his spaghetti sauce so sweet, Dr. BJ suggested, “Brown sugaring.” When we watched Tosh.O, he would provide commentary, “Brown sugaring.”

After several hours with the boys I decided to go home. Dr. BJ had enjoyed a couple glasses of wine, Disdain had found satisfaction with a rum concoction, and I could tell by their demeanor that they were ready for some alone time; they were ready for some brown sugaring.

I can’t deny it. My shit is sideways. Anyone who tries to claim their shit is straight or, as Dr. BJ calls it, ‘gayly forward,’ is full of it. And by ‘it’ I mean shit.

My crooked ass woke up this morning on the couch, with less than an hour to get ready for paparazzi with The Leaver and QuQueen. QuQueen is a stylist and had a nooner scheduled with Susan Sarandon. Yes, SS, from Moonlight Mile. QuQueen is a master of cosmetology and The Leaver and I are the masters of the hang out.

The Leaver and I walked the main street of Sundance central and then planted our asses at New York Lounge, sponsored by Greenberg Traurig. Feel free to Google it all you want, it most likely won’t be found. You will, however, find Queer Lounge, which is also very lovely.

The Leaver and I spent several hours on the casting couch of this fine establishment. Sipping coffee, eating popcorn and bagels, and, when the time was right, enjoying some really important cider out of upstate New York.

During this time, we came up with a documentary concept that is sure to blow the minds of anyone who ever thought of combining artifacts and stainless steel.

Later in the day, Alice stopped by for wine. I offered to make warm goat cheese spinach salad, but she had previously enjoyed lentil soup and read the entry about That’s Not Chinese farting, so she wasn’t interested in any solid consumption.

She drank Solà Fred and I had Menage a trois, while listening to Bored to Death, Season Two. At which time, we both agreed we would date and, if needed, marry Jason Schwartzman.

Alice is my bestest neighbor. It has been a long time since she and I have hung out, so tonight was very special. We shared stories, ate pistachios, enjoyed a few leftover Christmas Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups; it was lovely.

Just prior to her departing she told me, “I cannot drink anymore after this. I think a bottle of wine is just what the doctor ordered.” She was right. Today was just what the doctor ordered.  Sideways or gayly forward, my friends are truly the shit.

Just two days ago I was on stuckation. A week from now I’ll be on reLAXation. Manila Gorilla is moving to London for several months, so S-Unit and I decided we best get together for farewell celebrations.

I would be remiss not to mention how sofa king happy I am about this vacation. It brings the new year off to a great start. LA in January and, if I play my cards right, Wyoming with MyFace and Sleepless in February. I try to mix it up a bit when I travel. Like Donny and Marie, I’m a little bit country and a little bit rock n’ roll.

Which is why I plan on rolling on up to the Sundance Film Festival with The Leaver and QuQueen tomorrow. QuQueen has to work and The Leaver and I plan to work it. While we work it, the papparazi will be working overtime.

We’re definitely going to put stars in their eyes. And stars on our eyes. I’ve got a killer pair of star studded sunglasses that I plan on wearing to remain covert.  The Leaver will be donning her Ushanka. There will be no doubt that we didn’t ‘be there’ (this year’s theme).

This year, like last year, I plan to be here, there and everywhere. Life is far too short to be on stuckation.

S-Unit is not one to mince words and has been very clear about her goal for this year: get married on 11-11-11. “There’s a lid for every pot,” she told me. “That’s what my mom always tells me. I just haven’t found my lid yet, but I will. 11-11-11.”

Minus a few tiny details, like she wasn’t made in France and isn’t really a pot, S-Unit is Le Creuset of eligible bachelorettes – not only is she gorgeous to look at, she is hard-wearing efficient and solid, like cast iron, like Le Creuset.

I have a good feeling about her goal – made me rethink my goals for this year. Currently, my goals/resolutions are simple: practice cursive, unplug things, see less of my whiteboard/window, and qualify for jury duty. So far, I’m four for four. A lot of people of razzed me for my last goal. “Don’t you just have to register to vote in order to qualify?” They make it sound like registering to vote is simple. Obviously they don’t live in Arizona and aren’t serving time.

I try to keep my goals simple, so as to avoid failure. For example, qualifying for jury duty and actually being a juror are two different things. They are a lot like dating. One can be qualified to date and never actually date or, to use the courtroom term, never be ‘selected.’ Always the pot without a lid.

I was talking to a few coworkers about this and sharing some old dating stories with them, when one of them told me, “You’re really dating yourself.” “Actually, I am really dating myself,” I responded. “In fact, last night I had a very romantic evening at home, alone.” This pot does not need a lid. I can reach boiling point on my own – it may take a little longer, but I’ve got nothing but time. That said, I would consider a lid, assuming it helped the environment.

It has been some time since I have traveled, four months to be exact – a rather long time for me. When I first returned from my last adventure I decided it was time to take a staycation, which is often interchangeable with a paycation. Four months later, I feel like I am on stuckation, which is often interchangeable with suckation.

My aunt used to say, “When you can’t change the situation, change your attitude.” I like that salty saying, but have tweaked it a bit to meet my needs, “When you can’t change the situation, change your hair color.” Another salty saying, which I pulled from one of my all-time favorite reads, Salty Sayings from cynical tongues, is “Silk was invented so that women could seem naked in clothes.”

One of the little life lessons I learned in my travels is the importance of flying in silk. Since I couldn’t change my location/situation, and just colored my hair last week, I decided to throw on some silk. It was exhilarating. I did things I never do when I’m at home. For example, I turned on the television or, as OregganO calls it, “that little black box in the corner of your front room with the power button.” I watched shows I never watch, unless I’m on vacation. Shows like Tosh.O, Kendra, local news and The View. I had cereal for dinner and I didn’t wear any underwear (yep, I ditched the fullbacks for the evening). The night was truly magical.

To end it right, I opted to sleep in my bed. This act may be common for most people, but I am not most people. My house is a decent size and I have several options when it comes to where I sleep. Dr. BJ can attest to this, he spent many a morning trying to locate me so he could provide good day greetings. I’m not sure what tomorrow may bring, but I plan to have a little bit of silk with me so that I will be prepared, wherever I land.

With today being Martin Luther King (MLK) day, I was invited over to Dr. BJ’s to assist with his rods. Primarily because I, like MLK, have something to share with everyone. I have a drill.

I arrived to find Passed The Sniff Test and Not Skirt Chaser were also at the house. They were impressed to see me carrying my drill while dressed for success. As an occasional retail employee – today being one of those occasions, I have come to learn that MLK is about retail sales. Like Colbert said about the Sears MLK 50% off mattress sale, “Now you’ll have a dream on a Serta pillowtop. Available in Martin Luther King, Martin Luther Queen and Martin Luther Twin.”

As an occasional friend to many, I have come to learn that MLK is also about moving and drilling. Per Dr. BJ’s request, I played with his rods and my drill while he, Passed The Sniff Test and Not Skirt Chaser patiently waited, handing me screws and brackets whenever needed. Once Dr. BJ had a fully hung rod (two, actually), I headed to the furniture store.

Within an hour or so of being there I got a visit from Dr. BJ and That’s Not Chinese. That’s Not Chinese was in the market for a television stand and Dr. BJ was looking for a table. By the time they left, That’s Not Chinese had purchased both a television stand and a camera and Dr. Bj had gotten very tired. Unfortunately, he didn’t purchase a Martin Luther King.

After work, I met That’s Not Chinese at her house to unload her television stand from my car. “Is it heavy?” I asked her. “No, just awkward.” Awkward was exactly how I felt after we brought in the television stand and I began to take off my scarf. To my and That’s Not Chinese’s surprise, the top buttons on my blouse had come undone and my mamma mias were front and center. “Whoa, hello, I’m the mover, totally bistin’ a move!” “That should increase business, said That’s Not Chinese. “I hope so. This and the fact that I have a drill is soon to draw a crowd.” Very MLK.

Tree and FatGirl weren’t able to make the First or Second First Annual Brunch of the New Year, so we scheduled a Third First Annual Brunch of the New Year. That’s Not Chinese and I were ready long before they were, primarily because it was five or so before they arrived, which makes it more like linner.

Once they arrived, the party truly started. We were drinking mimosas, Tree was making us dinner, and he and FatGirl were carrying on like an old married couple – constantly bantering back and forth and always tattling. Especially FatGirl – le encanta chismes. That is Spanish, or as he would say ‘Mexican,’ for loves to tattle.

Their exchange reminded Tree of a couple he served at work, “The wife was totally in the husband’s face, asking, ‘Are you listening to me? Are you?’ The husband calmly replied, ‘Yes, I’m listening. How can I not?’ When I saw that, I thought to myself, ‘I am never getting married.’ And look at me now, practically married to him.” “You do act like a married couple,” That’s Not Chinese agreed. “Do you guys cuddle when you’re at home?” “No!” FatGirl quickly answered. “I’m always texting him and asking him to come in and cuddle with me, but he won’t.” “Do you reply to his texts?” I asked Tree. “No, I’m now ignoring them so he has started knocking on the wall. I just turn up my music.”

The champagne was gone and the decanter of red was ready for us, as was linner. Tree made us a lovely flank steak spinach salad and, prior to serving, said, “I hope none of you are opposed to blood.” “Just bloody vagina,” said FatGirl with a giggle. “Well, you’re probably not alone there,” That’s Not Chinese added. The salad was bloody delicious and That’s Not Chinese didn’t hesitate to process it in front of everyone.

Although Tree might not be opposed to blood, he is opposed to public acts of flatulence. “I don’t really find farts funny,” he said while moving away from That’s Not Chinese. “In fact, I don’t like fart humor at all.” “Oh my God,” FatGirl sat while rolling his eyes, “He has been so gassy lately.” Chismes. “Not in public,” Tree retorted. “And I don’t remember you farting like this,” he added while addressing That’s Not Chinese. “You may as well just take a shit at the table. When did this start? When you were listening to hip hop? Because I really don’t remember.” “Really?” asked That’s Not Chinese with surprise in her voice. “I’m an open farter. Always have been.” Pretty quasi-Chinese of That’s Not Chinese. It is rumored that burping is a sign of contentment and gratitude in China. Farting, however, in China and other places, is usually just a sign that one is soon to shit.

A few weeks ago OregganO asked me to keep my calendar open for a get together with her, Cream of Tartar, and some of their friends. The main purpose of the get together was so I could meet one of their single friends, NicNam Bomb.

I was telling BeCuz about it and she replied, “So you’re going on a blind date.” I hadn’t really thought of it as a blind date, but I guess that was essentially true. “As a blind date, hopefully he won’t ‘rub’ me the wrong way,” I joked with BeCuz. Then, I had a bit of an epiphany, “I think I may actually try and date a blind man, I bet they’re really good with their hands.”

Cream of Tartar and OregganO came over for pre-drinks and we ended up pulling out the 45s and listening to Survivor, The Oak Ridge Boys, Twisted Sister, Bernie Wayne, Laura Branigan, John Cougar Mellencamp and a few other classics. We probably shouldnt’ have started the night like this because it definitely set our music standards high. Outside of a few really good radio plays, the music we heard throughout the rest of the evening was substandard. It’s hard to beat a good batch of 45s and also hard to be on time when they’re spinning.

The get together was officially underway, at a local Asian grill, and we were officially fashionably late. As BeCuz and I had joked earlier, my blind date, “didn’t see that coming.” And he really didn’t, because NicNam Bomb wasn’t there yet – he was even more fashionable than us. So far, so good.

Cream of Tartar was sitting next to his third wife, Puffy Lime Green. First there is OregganO (this marriage is legal – recorded with the county, the works); then there is Bus Driver or, as Cream of Tartar endearingly refers to him, Drunk Bus Driver; and then, Puffy Lime Green. Puffy Lime Green and Cream of Tartar love spending time together, especially if fly fishing is involved. Puffy Lime Green also loves his puffy lime green coat, which he purchased at a Jeremy Jones yard sale. “I always get comments on it,” he told us as he pulled out a sheet of lozenges and a knife out from one of his many pockets in his puffy lime green coat. “Here,” he said as he handed me one of the lozenges. “Try this.” It looked like gum, but I felt I should inquire as to it’s being before putting it in my mouth (a good rule regardless of the ‘product), “What is it?” Cream of Tartar answered, “It’s Nicorette.”

NicNam Bomb was sipping a cup of Vietnamese coffee and was intrigued, “I’ll try it.” Cream of Tartar provided a suggestion, “I’d do half and if your spit starts to get weird and shit, I’d spit it out.” Puffy Lime Green agreed and began scoring the lozenge. Cream of Tartar was impressed, “That knife is badass. You always have the finest of knives.”

NicNam Bomb got his half and started chewing on it. He instantly felt a ‘kick.’ “Wow, what a mixture  – Nicorette and Vietnamese coffee. It’s like a bomb.” And so it was, the NicNam Bomb.

Every now and again a pampering is in order. OregganO prefers her pampering in the form of a pedicure and I prefer pretty much any and all pampering. So when she invited me to join her for a pedicure, I quickly agreed.

It has been about a month since my last ‘outsourced’ pedicure. During that pampering the girl providing it asked if I had injured my toes recently and I told her it was very likely I had, however, I had no idea how or when. Apparently, two of my toenails appeared to have experienced trauma and were due to fall off soon. She couldn’t have been more accurate. Two weeks later they did, in fact, fall off.

Which meant, I technically only had eight toes in need of a pedicure. “Do you think they’ll give me some kind of discount for a partial?” I asked OregganO. “Maybe. I have a friend who hates getting pedicures because he only has one foot and doesn’t feel like he should pay full price. He should get half-off.” “Like his foot,” I added.

I’ve got to agree with One Foot. If retailers gave such discounts, consumers would be far more likely to return. I’ve mentioned this theory before when discussing boob jobs. I realize boob jobs isn’t the term most use, primarily because it is so clear and obvious. Most people who have ‘work’ done use terms such as augmentation mammaplasty or mastopexy, in an attempt to be covert. As if most of the public and their friends won’t notice their extra ‘weight’ or newfound cleavage. This is exactly why I think half-off or buy one get one free specials are so important.

Nobody wants to walk around with one boob bigger or higher than the other. Yet, some may only have enough money to tackle one mamma at a time. Pricing promotions could prevent such madness. For the (medical) record, mamma is Latin for breast. Gives whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Mamma mia!’

OregganO decided to buy a treadmill. Cream of Tartar wasn’t too excited about this idea because, as often happens with in-home exercise equipment, he felt it wouldn’t get used. OregganO, however, felt this couldn’t be further from the truth. She had every intention to use the treadmill. So, while Cream of Tartar was at work she sent me a text ‘inviting’ me to help her pick up a treadmill. In exchange, I would receive dinner and wine. Seemed fair. We arrived at the seller’s home ready and able to retrieve the treadmill. “Mind if I make sure it works?” OregganO asked. “Not at all,” said the seller. “What are you going to do?” I asked her, “Hang a shirt on it?” “Very funny,” she replied. It wasn’t really very funny – that treadmill joke has been running around for years. Had she decided to do a ‘test run’ on it for 30-45 minutes, while we all waited, that would have been very funny.

But it appeared all of the laughs were on us when we tried to take the treadmill from the second floor apartment to the car. Although it was collapsible, the shape was awkward and made moving it difficult. We’d get a few feet and the bottom half (I believe they call it the tread part) would unfold, putting the treadmill in ‘ready’ position. As the move progressed, one of the neighbors came out, lit a cigarette, asked ‘What are you girls up to?”and watched the ‘move’ unfold, literally. After several negotiations with the treadmill we got to the truck. Once there, we were presented with another challenge: we had to figure out a way to lift it into the bed of the truck and lay it down. During this time, it had started snowing.

Eventually we managed to get it in the truck bed.  Once we got back to OregganO’s we got smarter, and our moving options improved. Meaning, we were able to back the truck up to the porch and just roll the treadmill onto the porch. Getting it through the front door and subsequent interior doors was another story. As it had done at the apartment, the tread kept unfolding, until just before we reach it’s destination when I discovered there was a latch to hold it in place. We got it just outside the room in which it would be housed when we managed to get stuck between the door, the tub , and the sink. It was at this point that we decided having  a treadmill is  a good workout and we were hungry.

So we left the treadmill where it was and left the bathroom to enjoy some tuna melts. OregganO was telling me about all of the jobs she has lined up over the next few weeks and, at the same time, was filling me in on all of the things that have been happening on television, but not without providing me a little advice first, “You know that little black thing in the corner of your front room? It has a power button. Try turning it on, you’ll be amazed by what you see.” Not one to watch much TV, I just smiled and told her to go on. As she continued to enlighten me with reality and fictional treasures, I started to do some math in my head. “What are you going to do once you start working? That is valuable TV watching time.” “Why do you think I’m overwhelmed right now?” she responded. “I’m not sure when I’m going to watch all of my shows.”

Three Ts: treadmill, tuna, TV. Work, however, does not start with ‘t’, so I’m not sure what she is going to do about that dilemma. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow, another ‘t’, to figure that out.