Category: blog

Yesterday, while looking for my car keys, I found two interesting objects in my purse. A set of utensils wrapped in a napkin and a sheet of ‘Alcohol & Pregnancy Don’t Mix’ stickers. I’m not quite sure how these ended up in my purse, however, I appreciate the generosity. I shared this finding with others and That’s Not Chinese informed me she also found the stickers in her purse, but no utensils. Very interesting.

The Responsible One was very envious of my newfound gifts, specifically the stickers. So, I offered to share them with her. In appreciation, she invited me to join her and Drink Whisperer on Christmas eve at a local bar. This year, she informed Drink Whisperer that they would be taking the ‘Christ’ out of Christmas. For her this meant no family gatherings. For him it meant she might be going to hell. For me it meant, mas party. For those of you who aren’t bilingual, mas means more. You’re welcome.

As she was telling me about the bar, she told me it has the word “‘Bout” in the name. “Really?” I asked, “‘Bout, Huh? Interesting. These are the contractions I don’t understand. Why contract if you are only taking away one letter and plan to replace it with a single quotation mark?” “Good point,” The Responsible One replied, “it doesn’t make much sense.” “Maybe it made sense when people were sending telegrams more regularly and every space and letter was tied to cost, but these days? I just don’t get it.” “‘Tis the season,” The Responsible One replied. “‘Tis ’bout time people started using ’tis more often in conversation,” I stated. “‘Tis true, ’tis true,” The Responsible One quipped.

Then I had an idea, which I shared with The Responsible One. “I’m going to start saving up the letters I drop when contracting and just use them periodically ahead of or at the end of other words. I’m pretty sure this is how Apple came up with iTouch, iPod, iPad, the lot of them. I’m going to do it, fo’ reals. I’m not ascared – people best start expecting contractions. I already have a credit balance from those few sentences. Join me?” “Let’s do it,” The Responsible One excitedly agreed (while banking a ‘u’ for later use), “’tis good stuff.” And now she has an ‘i’ for later use. Two for two. Well played.

I met up with a friend today, planning to give her a special Christmas present (Snuggie, don’t be jealous), and when I arrived at the coffee shop I realized I had brought the wrong gift. Next year, no specialized gifts. I’m giving everyone the same thing, so as to prevent this type of mishap from occurring again. Next year, everybody gets a Snuggie.

While looking at the gift that she could not unwrap and take home with her, she told me her six-year-old daughter loves skiing – wants to do it all of the time. They live in a posh resort town just East of me and I am all too familiar with the way those ‘ski families’ operate. “Next thing you know, she’ll be on the ski team, I told her. “You know that’s going to take a lot of money and a lot of involvement.” Her reply, “I don’t do involvement.”

Funny, depending on the circumstance, neither do I. For a variety of reasons, I haven’t participated in family gatherings for several years. This year, my family contacted me and asked if a few of them could come over and play Just Dance for the holidays. Being a complete sucker for Just Dance, I said yes. I have several nieces and nephews and, after posing for a Polaroid picture in front of the green posterboard tree, they wanted to start playing.

One of my nephews, however, was more interested in the corks I had used to make the star atop the tree, the trivet in my kitchen and the champagne bottle corkboard. I talked to him about the crafting process and he was intrigued – wanting to see other items I had made. So, I took him around the house showing him various crafts, the last being a recent photo album from New York. A few minutes later, he came and found me. “Is it OK if I look in the album you gave me?” “Of course it is,” I replied. “You can look at any of my books.” “But there’s a half-naked woman in there.” “What? Where?” I asked and was off to find out just exactly what was going on.

Turns out there was a half-naked woman in the pics, Naked Cowgirl at Times Square – complete with saggy pasties and all.  A little while later the kids decided they wanted to make some things out of corks, like I had. So I poured all of the corks on the ground, like Lincoln Logs, and they started designing and building. I showed them a really important cork trick that is best accomplished while dining at posh restaurants – bounce the cork until it lands upright. I then went to grab the camera to capture this moment.

As I reached in the cabinet for the camera I knocked over my tin of condoms (pretty sure they’re expired). It was at this time I realized I was probably ‘exposing’ these kids to more than they’ve ever been exposed. I can guarantee they’ve never made anything out of a wine cork (let alone seen a wine cork). I can also guarantee the Girls Night Out sketch – several naked women in togas drinking wine and running across the hilltop – which I have hanging on the wall above the floor on which they were cork crafting, is not something they see everyday and will most likely be discussed with their friends.

When I returned to the kitchen they were enthralled with their wine cork forts, cars and names. “Do you think you could get more of these?” They asked. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” I assured them. Wine cork ‘collection,’ that is a cause in which I could definitely get involved.

After several weeks of having my wrapping paper station double as a Christmas tree, and multiple comments about not having a ‘traditional’ Christmas tree, I decided to go green and make a tree out of whatever I could find in my house.

The result was nothing less than amazing. I now have a lovely posterboard tree adorned with tissue paper ornaments (thank you for cutting them out Dr. BJ), crepe paper garland, flocked with hot glue and topped with a glittery, cardboard star, trimmed with rafia and wine corks (luckily I had enough). Passed The Sniff Test stopped by and offered to loan me a spotlight of sorts that I could shine on the tree. I respectfully declined, primarily because I have some fire concerns – I ‘flocked’ the hell out of this tree. 

After admiring the tree, we sat down to eat and did what most people do at dinner, dish and diss. “I had a horrible headache yesterday and had to take a nap after shopping,” Dr. BJ informed us and then said, “I blame you.” He was facing me and could tell by the look on my face that I was confused. “I blame you for the headache,” he added. “Me? Why me?” I asked. “I don’t even get headaches. Wait a second, are you implying that I give you headaches?” Passed The Sniff Test decided to interject, “My mom has water on the brain. Maybe that’s your problem.” I was taken aback by all of this dissin’ and neither of them had an explanation as to why they felt I caused headaches or might have water on the brain.

I should probably be offended by these comments, but I am as good at tradissin’ as the next guy and I’ve no doubt the time will come when I’ll dish and diss and they won’t know if they should order another drink or pull out a package of diss you tissue. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m ready for it. I’m down with PLG, yeah, you know me.

Feeling pretty cocky right now for a couple of reasons. 1) Dirk is repaired, free of charge – the Fit is the shit. 2) I’ve converted one more person to the library. It’s official, Dr. BJ is a card carrying member.

As with many converts, I had to have some pre-conversion conversations with him about the benefits of joining and how his life will be changed, forever more, by doing so. I even provided testimonials and pictures of other card carrying members whose happiness can only be a direct result of belonging to one of the most elite public groups around. The library better watch out – based on the current number of ‘converts’ and state law, we are considered a ‘gang’ – PLG, check it out! Let me break that down for you, Pulic Library Gang, we check stuff out.

After the conversion, we went shopping. While tooling around the shopping center, a man in a BMW decided to cut us off. “Better watch out!” Dr. BJ said to him, but really just said it to me while gesturing ahead. “Yes, he best,” I added. “He has no idea how tough us card carrying members can be. PLG is coming to town.” “Better watch out, better not pout, better not cry,” said Dr. BJ, “That’s my Christmas message to him.” If this is his message, Christmas time or otherwise, I have a feeling he may need to put his new card to use checking out books that detail phrases for putting someone in check.

It had been a while since I had seen Manager. The last time I saw him he had been dating someone for several months and was considering getting proposing to her. Having been married previously, he was slightly uncertain about this life-changing decision. So, when I saw him a few weeks later, it was a bit of a surprise when he mentioned, very nonchalantly, “Did I tell you I got married last Thursday?” Nope, he hadn’t told me.

One of my stylists has a boyfriend who she has been dating for years. Currently, they live in different states while she is attending school. I hadn’t seen her for a couple of months, so I stopped by recently. I had been there for about twenty minutes, just talking about miscellaneous stuff, when she asked, “Anything new in your life since we chatted last?” “No, not much,” I replied, “How about you?” “Hmmm, well, my boyfriend and I decided to get married last Monday. Just went down to the Justice of the Peace and did it.”

I shared these stories with OregganO just before a pedicure and, only minutes later, as we were getting our pedicures, Five Days informed us she and her husband only dated five days before tying the knot. Unbelievable!

With all of these marriages in mind, I followed my heart to Dewey Decimal’s residence (that’s the library for those of you who might not know) and, not surprisingly, found the movie Ira & Abby, just waiting for me to check it out. They decide to get married within hours of meeting each other.

All of this marrying (and a little chest congestion – caused by the weather and not love pains) drove me to my second love, hot Tang. As I was sipping a comforting cup of hot, sweet, tangy goodness, I decided to research marriage. I learned something that 1) didn’t shock me because of where I live, and 2) might be great news for many of you who are soon to be attending family holiday parties and don’t mind long engagements.

Are you ready for it? OK, here goes, you can marry your first cousin if you are both 65 and older. If you really can’t wait that long, and can prove that neither of you are capable of reproduction, you can apply for a waiver and start that two-branched family tree at 55. If, however, you are related to each other within and not including the fifth degree of consanguinity, it’s not going to happen. Kissing cousins, you’re welcome.

Supertramp is my latest and greatest library item. I listen to it everyday – in my car, in my office, in my home – I’m smitten. A few nights ago, I was listening to Take the Long Way Home and literally taking the long way home, when I came across a street on which I don’t normally travel. I was going about 25 mph, maybe 30, and noticed that I would soon be crossing railroad tracks. What I didn’t notice, however, was the deep crevices in between each track (there were at least three, maybe four tracks). The v-shaped dips in these crevices were as distinct as the argyle pattern on Charlie Brown’s sweater.

 

Unfortunately, I didn’t find this out until I was crossing the first track and my sweet little Dirk, the name YummYummy and I gave the Fit, who normally fits everywhere, was too big (pun intended) for this crevice. In addition, Dirk’s low hanging fruit, aka bumper, made it even more difficult to clear each crevice. Just when I thought Dirk was going to flip fender over bumper, we caught air.

 

I’m not sure how high above ground Dirk and I were hovering, but we were definitely hovering. It was as if I was, as Supertramp sings, ‘a Romeo, playing a part in a picture-show.’  In addition to taking the long way home, I was clearly taking the wrong way home and the only elements missing from our airborne tactics were lights (and siren) and a film crew.

 

If you have ever caught major air in your vehicle, it is a very out-of-body experience and appears to last for a much longer amount of time than is actual. This feeling comes to an abrupt halt when your tires hit the pavement. It was at this point that my eyes were directed to my console. I was sure all lights would shut off, I would hear wheels, not tires, touching the ground and I would see Dirk’s bits scattered about the road.

 

Not so. Dirk is one tough cookie. He is definitely a bit scuffed up and his low hanging fruit is somewhat askew, but he works like new (which is good, since he is new). I would have to say that our stunt driving was in the top ten of all stunts, just like Take the Long Way Home was 10th in the charts in 1979.

 

No more could have been would have been – my stunt driving dreams just became a reality. No need to attend the Bobby Ore stunt driving classes or become a member of PDA, Professional Driving Association. I skipped straight to #4 of eHow’s ‘How to Become a Stunt Driver,’ ‘practice your skills and diversify yourself.’ I’ve definitely done both of these items, and fast. What I didn’t do, however, was heed eHow’s warning, ‘Don’t think you can just break into the sport by driving fast and hoping someone will notice your skills.’ Good news, someone did notice my skills, the guy walking along (and probably running away from once I approached) the tracks. I did, however, heed their tip and have not, yet, quit my day job.

Several weeks ago I received a request from Lower Case ‘L’ – she wanted to get together for holiday karaoke. When I thought about how long it had been since the last time we karaoked I was a bit disappointed in myself. That said, I wasted no time putting together a list of my favorite karaoke partners and we got together for one more memorable evening.

Lower Case ‘L’ was so excited to sing holiday songs and we were all sure our karaoke bar would have a grand selection. Our confidence began to wain when we arrived at the bar and found two things: no Karaoke Master and the worst and shortest selection of Christmas songs.

Like Mary and Joseph looking for an inn, we were hopeful, and continued to peruse the song selection book while waiting for Karaoke Master to arrive. After personally asking Social Mores, several times, about Karaoke Master’s status, Sleepless decided to try phoning him to see if she got a different response. No such luck. When we tried this trick a second time we quickly learned that Social Mores wasn’t as gnieve as we thought – the gig was up, no more prank calls.

We weren’t sure what to do now, because the prank calls (and the beverages) had been occupying our time while we waited for Karaoke Master. Thankfully, like the Three Wise Men, he finally arrived. Unlike the Three Wise Men, he came from the West, wasn’t bearing gifts and was alone.

Karaoke Master confirmed that his Christmas selection was limited, so we opted to find songs that might have a hint of holiday to them. Anything with a ‘ho’ in it was a sure bet, like Hey Hoby Ludacris. I thought something by Supertramp (everyone knows Mary wasn’t a virgin), maybe Goodbye Stranger, would be appropriate. Sadly, neither of those songs were among the selections. LeftEared suggested Sweet Child of Mine by GNR because it was the closest thing we could find to Away in a Manger. Based on the song selection, it appeared we may only be singing song’s from The Immaculate Collection, which makes sense because Like a Virgin, Lucky Star, Papa Don’t Preach, and Like a Prayer all have Christmas connotations (as does Madonna for that matter).

We did as we always do and sang like rock stars. Before everyone left for the night (for the record, OregganO and I were the last to leave, accompanied by LeftEared, of course), we decided to make like Jesus and resurrect this night in January.

A coworker was born today (several years ago) and, although we are celebrating the day of her birth this weekend, I brought her gift to work. I carried it around with me the majority of the day, in hopes of running into her or having time in between meetings to take it to her. Unfortunately, today was busier than usual and I ended up carting it with me from meeting to meeting, in the elevator, down the halls, etc.

I’m sure this was a topic of conversation for several in the building because her gift wasn’t wrapped. So, in one hand I held my beloved coffee cup and in the other hand, or under my arm if I had other papers, was the unwrapped bottle of pinot grigio.

Mid-day was a holiday lunch meeting. We began talking about glass recycling and one of the attendees mentioned her city allows them to mix the glass with the other items in their recylcing bin. This is not the case in my city. I have to drive it to the nearest glass recycling bin, as does my boss. “It’s no big deal,” he said. “I just go there once a month and drop off my glass bottles.” “Once a month is good,” I said, “but by then your entire trunk is full of glass bottles and you look like an alcoholic.” It was at this point I realized perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that little detail and I should get the gift to the coworker right quick.

A little while later I phoned my boss’ secretary, “Hey,” she said before I was able to begin the conversation, “Do you want to run a little errand and take me to that little store that you took me to last week?” “You mean the liquor store?” I asked. “Yes, that’s the one, let’s go there. I’ve got a couple of things I want to bake that call for rum.” I agreed to take her, again. I have to. Everything tastes better mit Schuss.

As girls often do, OregganO, MyFace, MiniMe and I discussed sex the other night. MyFace (I prefer this over Dallas) told us about a recently single friend, Bobby’s Girl, who had an interesting gynecology appointment. Her doctor completed the pap smear and then said, “What’s going on? Why aren’t you using this? You need to use this or you’re going to dry up.” Bobby’s Girl was stunned by her doctor’s comments, but even these comments didn’t prepare her for what her doctor prescribed, “You need to get a BOB. That’s right, a BOB. A battery operated boyfriend.”

 

A few weeks after the appointment, Bobby’s Girl decided to share the story with MyFace. “I don’t even know where to get a BOB,” she told MyFace. “I don’t either,” MyFace replied, “but I’ll check with my friend, she’ll know for sure.” Which is the real reason MyFace shared this story with us – she was hoping I would know where she could find ‘BOB’, because she would like to give him to Bobby’s Girl for Christmas. BOB – more than just a stocking stuffer and definitely the gift that keeps on giving (so long as you have batteries).

Spent the past couple of days working my side jobs: furniture store and babysitting. Being that it is the holiday season, the furniture store decided to hold a potluck. As an office employee, this means all of the sales associates bring food and the office staff eat it. Dandini and I were working on trading our designated lunch time so we could eat together or, ‘go on a date to the potluck’, when Slam walked up to the counter. “Wow Slam,” I said, “Last week you were frequenting the other side of the counter and, today, this side.” “I go both ways,” Slam responded. I’m starting to think he really might.

 

Dandini and I made our way to the potluck, taking a stroll through the corner cabinets and youth beds, when we heard a strange grinding noise coming from the potluck. In addition to the potluck standards – potato salad, artichoke dip, deviled eggs, and Coca-Cola marinated ham – someone brought in a full-size shaved ice machine, complete with an employee to make and serve the shaved ice. This was definitely the hit of the potluck. So much so, that one of the employees had a raspberry cream shaved ice at the potluck and, as she was returning to the sales floor with that shaved ice in hand, she approached the shaved ice stand and said, “I’m going to need another one to go.”

 

It was about this time that Dandini and I decided to partake. I ordered a small Tiger’s Blood and Dandini advised the shaved-ice employee, “Please make it special, we’re on a date.” Dandini then handed me my shaved ice and informed me, “I can guarantee you’ll taste a little bit of love with every bite.” This comment, and the fact that I picked Tiger’s Blood, made me think of the whole bread is my body, wine is my blood craziness, and then my thoughts went straight to Theresa Rogers (cougar) and Tiger Woods. These thoughts were both calamitic and appetite suppressing. Fortunately, I was still able to enjoy my shaved ice.

 

Later in the evening I came home to prepare for my babysitting job. OregganO and MyFace had eagerly agreed to assist and, in return, I offered to make them clam chowder. The last time I made clam chowder was for Tree and Dr. BJ and I forgot to add the clams. I was determined to not let that happen again. So, I put all of the ingredients in a spot where they could not be missed.

 

Once everyone arrived, to include MiniMe and WeeQ, I started making the chowder. We were discussing road trips, specifically the trip to Jackson Hole last year, and decided we should rent a couple of motorhomes and convoy on up to Mount Rushmore. The idea of having CB radios in the motorhomes excited me and I was practicing a few exchanges we could have while using our ‘handles.’ “Breaker 1-9, MyFace. Looks like we’ve got a Smokey in a plain brown wrapper up ahead.” “I don’t like MyFace,” said MyFace. “I’d like to request a name change. May I please be Dallas?” “10-4,” I replied.

 

The chowder was done, the boxed wine had been poured (aka spouted) and the table was set. Well, almost. I noticed Dallas had a chipped bowl and, being that she was a guest, I took her bowl and said, “I can’t have you eating out of a chipped bowl, you’re a guest.” I then set the bowl at OregganO’s place setting. She comes over often enough now that I don’t need to pull out the good (non-chipped) dishes for her.

 

We began eating and I started to tell them the sans clams calamity that occurred the last time I made clam chowder for Tree and Dr. BJ, when I looked in my bowl and realized I had done it again! I couldn’t believe it. This was a major calamity. Dallas giggled and said, “I noticed the clams were still in the can when you started dishing up the chowder, but I don’t like clams, so I said nothing.” OregganO added, “I don’t really like clams either, so this is perfect.” Next time, no clams or chowder – I’m hiring the shaved iced employee. I hear shaved ice pairs nicely with boxed wine.