Category: blog

Several coworkers and I were invited to present to approximately 150 people. We arrived at the venue to find a ‘reserved’ table for presenters. Being that several of my coworkers had already been sitting at the table, but had stepped out into the lobby for a bit, I knew the seats at the table were limited.

 

I decided to go ahead and make my way to the table and so did a coworker. As we approached, and just before we each took a seat, one of our seated coworkers whispered, “How was your trip?” It was at this moment that I attempted to sit in one of the vacant chairs. Unfortunately, this was the same chair my coworker, who had walked in directly behind me, opted to choose. As a result, she literally pulled the chair out from underneath me. Subsequently, I landed on the floor, legs tangled up and, luckily, with my coffee still in the cup (mostly). “My trip wasn’t so hot,” I replied to my other coworker while trying to gain my composure and stand. “You fall very gracefully,” he said.

 

I stood up and assumed the coworker who pulled the chair out would realize I intended to sit on that specific chair so I, again, attempted to sit down. This time, instead of landing on the ground, I landed on my coworker’s lap. “I think I’ll find somewhere else to sit,” was her only response. There’s really nothing like a grand entrance.

While at my house one day Sleepless said, “I just thought of something for the backyard. I’ll be right back.” A few minutes later she returned with Ice Cream Man and an inflatable ‘adult-sized’ above ground swimming pool. Ice Cream Man wasted no time attempting to inflate the pool by mouth and, about thirty – more like ten – minutes later we all decided there were better things to do with our mouths then blow up a swimming pool, thus, we put our mouths on cocktail glasses instead.

 

The deflated pool remained at my house, untouched, until Tree and Awkward arrived for pool day Sunday. Tree loves a good pool day and could not wait to inflate the pool. Sadly, he forgot his air compressor so we quickly scooted off to the nearest store to purchase one. Once obtained, we hustled home, opened the box, and discovered we’d been bamboozled – some scoundrel had switched out product leaving us with the wrong air compressor. Not easily discouraged or stopped, we immediately returned to the store, got the right compressor, and returned to the Manor to get the pool party started.

 

Within minutes, the pool was inflated and full. We all anxiously took our turns dipping our feet in and then, even more anxiously, jumped out of the pool due to the hypothermia that was setting in. Determined to fully enjoy the pool party, Tree shrugged off the hypothermia and immersed his whole body. “It feels fine once you’re all in,” he tried to convince us. Awkward maintained a relaxed position on the chaise lounge and I opted to stand in the shade nearby – neither of us were interested in getting in again. Realizing this fact, Tree decided to start a water fight. Not wanting to get wet, I let the two of them chase each other while I finished my beer and attempted to restore my normal body temperature – which has been abnormal for years.

 

A few hours later, the party got a lido bit bigger when Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and Little Sleep stopped by. The six of us each grabbed a chair, a beverage and rested our feet upon our new water feature. Seconds later, Awkward decided to make waves, literally. Luckily, his fear of Tree’s retaliation curbed the wave making and we were all able to sit back, relax, and enjoy our #staymiddleclassy lido party.

It’s been a while since I’ve written and, as much as I would like to elaborate as to why, I must first disclose I am a self-described WITSEC. Fortunately, I can elaborate on what this means. Self-described, is exactly as it sounds – something one declares or states about oneself. WITSEC is the federal witness security program for witnesses who have been threatened. I would say more, but I can’t, according to my self-description.

 

I can, however, discuss an event I recently attended with Rated R and Sleepless. The event was focused on up-and-coming women from a variety of professions – several of which included ‘self-described this’ and ‘self-described that’.  “I like this concept,” Rated R said and added, “I, too, am a self-described chief executive officer.” “I’m a self-described chief marketing officer,” I replied. “I’m a self-described chief operating officer and the self-described president,” Rated R continued. “Why stop there? In fact, why start there? I’m a self-described retiree,” I added.

 

Unfortunately, my self-described moment was short lived because I had to return to my actual-described job. Rated R, however, continued on with the game and, with Sleepless by her side, headed to a nearby bar to be a self-described sommelier.

 

 

Working in Grigio Gardens taught Sleepless and I a very valuable lesson about positions of authority, specifically, supervisors.

 

There is an old adage, “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” Being that I was in a tank top, never nudes and wellies, I was clearly headed for a non-supervisor ‘position’ in ‘sales’ soon. On My Terms, Live Longer and Beaner – the third person to  join us as we worked in the Gardens – were all donning dresses, even though they knew that weeding was the only agenda item. That said, they dressed for the job they wanted: supervisor.

 

Beaner arrived on day two of Project Weed Removal and, unlike the other two supervisors, she was not afraid to get her hands dirty. She immediately pulled up her dress and started pulling out weeds. “It’s nice to have a supervisor who isn’t above working with the staff,” Sleepless told her. “I love this. Especially when I can get the really stubborn weeds,” Beaner responded. Such a wise supervisor. She should be on TED Talks.

 

After an hour or so of being in the weeds with us she informed us she needed to sit for a minute. “That’s the only thing the other supervisors in dresses did yesterday,” Sleepless informed her. “I think SiT stands for Supervisor in Training,” I interjected. “Sounds about right,” Sleepless said. “Maybe we should SiT for a bit,” I suggested. We did but, being that we weren’t in dresses, it didn’t feel right to SiT for too long. Today’s note to self: Wear more dresses; especially when visiting friends who are doing yard work.

Once Sleepless and I finished working in Grigio Gardens for the day and, ultimately, once our supervisor, On My Terms, gave us permission to be finished, we decided to enjoy a refreshing beverage on the stoop. It was around this time that On My Terms informed us we would be needing ice.

 

“Your ice maker is broken,” she informed me. I don’t have an ice maker, rather, I have two trays and an ice cube bin. I knew this meant we’d burned through the bin and the trays. “I can’t believe you only have two trays in these modern days,” she continued. “I usually don’t need a lot of ice,” I replied. That said, I do try to make a lot of ice when I know I’m going to have guests. I have, however, experienced a broken ice maker of sorts. Last year, around this time, I broke my shoulder, thus, struggled with twisting the trays to release the cubes. As a result, I resorted to bags of ice, and lots of them, for both my shoulder and my beverages.

 

On My Terms wasn’t done discussing my out-of-date ways, “Seriously. Two Trays? I’ve got five trays. It doesn’t leave a lot of room for frozen food, but it keeps the ice flowing. You really need to remedy this situation before the next EAR.”

 

The conversation about my inadequate and antiquated two-tray ice maker continued as we walked to the corner market to purchase a bag of ice. Thus, I made a note to self as walked: Get with the modern ways, but three more trays.

 

 

Sleepless kindly offered to assist me with the weeding of my back 40. Being that it is 97% weeds, this was an incredibly kind offer.

 

Not having been in the garden since last year, it took me a while to find some shorts…that fit, barely. I somehow managed to make my way into a pair of cutoff Levi’s, threw  on my Wellies and made my way to the yard. The short distance between my house and my back 40 gave my shorts a little time to stretch out, which I appreciated.

 

Sleepless soon joined me and, within no time, we were pulling weeds like our lives depended on it. Approximately two hours into our work On My Terms arrived in a cute polka-dot picnic dress with red Keds and had beverages and snacks for us to enjoy. Right soon after she arrived, Live Longer joined us. Live Longer was also in a cute dress and, to top it off, was donning a fedora. “You look naked from the waist down,” Live Longer told me. “Thank you,” I replied.

 

The two of them sat on the picnic table, enjoying their beverages, cheese, fruit and crackers, while Sleepless and I remained dedicated to the task at hand. “Work harder not smarter girls,” On My Terms shouted out to us from her cushy position on the picnic table, then added, “We’re the supervisors.” “You missed a weed or two over there,” Live Longer told us, pointing to the three quarter portion of the garden that we had not yet touched. Again, Sleepless and I remained dedicated.

 

“I have got to get a picture of you in those short shorts,” On My Terms told me. To which I replied, “These are capris, I just have really long legs.” “It’s going on the world wide web!” was her reply. Eventually, On My Terms insisted we take a break, “Federal law requires it,” and play Cards Against Humanity. Pretty sure federal law does not require that. “Just one round,” she told us. After several rounds Live Longer announced she had to go supervise dinner with a friend and Sleepless informed On My Terms that we needed to get back to work. “You’re going to get a bonus,” she told her and added, “Oh, looks like I need to refresh my beverage. I’ll be back. Remember, harder not smarter.”

 

Bruiser has decided to pack up her things and move to Southern California. Actually, only half of that is true. No, none of that is true.

 

Bruiser’s husband got a job in Southern California so she is, reluctantly, moving there. She is not, however, packing up her things. Instead, the movers will be doing that for her. “Will they be packing my toothbrush or should I plan on bringing one when I visit?” I asked. “It’s in our things to be moved,” she proudly replied. The movers, unfortunately, will not take pets, plants, oils, firearms or explosives so Bruiser plans to take all of those items in her car. “Would you like a travel companion?” Live Longer asked – for someone who intends to live longer, she definitely lives on the edge at times.

 

After spending several hours together, it was clear that Live Longer no longer intended on traveling by car and assisting with the pets. “Let’s get online and book a trip,” she shouted out several times. She also shouted out instructions related to Bruiser’s dog, who was on timeout for knocking over my beverage, “Let the dog out! Let the dog out!” “Are you ready to miss all of this?” we asked. It was clear, she was not.

One person, however, who was literally missing all of this was Scared. She arrived at Bruiser’s at the beginning of the evening and then had to leave to assist a patient in a neighboring town. By the time she found the patient’s home, addressed the emergency, and started to maker her way back, On My Terms and Live Longer, along with pretty much everyone else, were ready to go home. This news saddened Scared and she begged us all to stay until she returned. Although we did, we had one foot out the door as she placed both feet inside.

As Scared stood next to Bruiser two things were very clear: Bruiser was sad to leave and our leaving made Scared sad – it was quite tragic.  “Don’t be sad, we’ll see you all at EAR in June,” On My Terms advised. “I’ll be in California,” said Bruiser. “I’ll be out of town,” Scared replied. “Oh. Alright, see ya,” was On My Terms’ response as she walked out the door. Shakespeare couldn’t have scripted it better.

 

 

With Sleepless’ birthday approaching a group of us got together and met at a local restaurant for a wine tasting/pairing.  BioMom was the first to arrive and, as we walked in, drew our attention to the stemware. “Look how beautiful these glasses are,” she said then added, “I only brought a small purse.” This is code for, “Sadly, they won’t fit in my bag.”

 

The server started pouring the wine and set an empty pitcher in the center of the table. Rated R immediately advised her we wouldn’t be needing it. “What was that all about?” I asked. “It was a spit cup. We don’t need a spit cup. I know us, we will not be spitting out any of this wine,” Rated R advised. She was right, we’re not spitters.

 

As we tasted the wines and tapas we chatted about vacation ideas. “I need to get laid. Let’s go to Boise,” Ashterisk told us. “Is Boise known as the place to get laid?” I asked.”I don’t know. It’s the truth,” she replied. Looks like Boise may have a new tourism slogan.

With only one more round of wine to go Rated R made another executive decision, “I need some actual food – after this we’re heading next door for garlic fries.” And with that, we paid our tab and strolled next door for more wine and a ton of fries. Next stop: Boise.

Years ago I read somewhere that the reason we have living rooms (or call them that) is because parlors were frequently used to hold viewings of deceased loved ones, thus, a room for the living was created/named. I’m not sure if this is fact or fiction, but it’s interesting and sometimes interesting wins.

 

Being that I would be attending a wake for the father-in-law of BeCuz, and that he was a very traditional Northern Irish man, I decided to do a little research before going so that I could be respectful of the preferences and beliefs of him and his family.

 

The first thing I learned was how wakes (supposedly) came to be. Some believe they started when Irish would drink stout from pewter mugs, get lead poisoning, assume a catatonic (often appearing to be dead) state, and others would watch over them until they woke. The second thing I learned – third really, the second thing I learned is not to drink from pewter mugs – is wakes are held to celebrate the life of the deceased. This seems a bit more likely and is definitely the reason most people hold wakes.

 

I also learned the blinds or curtains are drawn in the homes of the deceased and in neighbors’ homes, clocks are stopped (at the time of death), and mirrors are often covered. In addition, a window is opened in the home of the deceased so their spirit may leave the house. It is important that this open window not be blocked by a person or object because doing so may prevent the spirit from leaving and could result in bad luck for the person in the way of spirit. This last belief was probably the most important for me to learn. With my bout of hot flashes I am definitely drawn to open windows and definitely do not want desire misfortune to come my way. Fortunately, the window had been closed by the time arrived – it is only left open long enough (a couple of hours) for the spirit to leave and the closed so the spirit cannot return.

 

With all of this knowledge before me I took the last bit of knowledge I learned – guests can and should bring food and drink for the surviving family – grabbed a bottle of his favorite Irish whiskey, Bushmill’s Black Bush, and headed to the wake ready to pay respects. BeCuz kindly greeted me (I read about this as well), accepted the whiskey and asked that I keep it in my car until the funeral because the first wake (there are often two), held the night prior, ended with a lot of drunkenness that carried on until the wee hours of the morning. “Are you sure it wasn’t lead poisoning?” I asked. “I’m not sure of anything,” she replied and added, “I woke up to my backdoor wide open.” “I opened the door to let the spirits escape from his ass,” said a friend of the family who was referring to another friend who was farting during his drink-induced sleep. “Aye, Irish tradition,” said the another guest. Based on the number of egg and onion salad sandwiches that were in the kitchen I have a feeling this was true.