Category: blog

If you ever call my phone and I don’t answer or the sound is a bit muffled, don’t be alarmed. It probably just means I’ve shut it in a door somewhere or launched it in the air with a lanyard. It is all part of the cell phone durability test group in which I participate and, currently, I am the chair and only member. I offered my services to my cell phone provider, but they were not interested. They did, however, ask if I was interested in adding insurance to my plan.

Luckily, my phone still worked after shutting it in the car door and, to my surprise, I had a text message from Cheekiss. I haven’t heard from her in some time and she was hoping to get together. I invited her to join OregganO, Dr. BJ, MiniMe and I to look at houses for Dr. BJ. She excitedly agreed.

After looking at houses, OregganO returned home to the comfort of Cream of Tartar’s arms and ham (close to Arm and Hammer, but different). The rest of us went to our favorite sushi restaurant. Dr. BJ suggested we ask about the ingredients in the sweet potato roll, like he did last time, and I suggested he ask about the Christmas Tree roll. We have a feeling it is an Oregon fir, but we’re not sure if it is prelit. Nice thing about this sushi place is their menu item descriptions typically match what you get to a T.

This time, however, when the rolls came out, we noticed one of MiniMe’s rolls was not what she had ordered. “Remember when we went out to breakfast and she (MiniMe) got her country fried steak and said, ‘this is wrong, I ordered steak’?” Cheekiss asked. “Yes, I remember. To her defense, country fried steak hasn’t been a common menu item in my home,” I replied and added, “And you must admit, it is a bit confusing to refer to chicken as steak.” My favorite MiniMe food story involves hamburgers. We were talking about eating one and she told us she doesn’t eat them because she is a vegetarian. “You eat cheeseburgers,” my brother-in-law reminded her. “Right,” MiniMe confirmed. “Cheeseburger, not hamburger. Cheese, ham, there is a difference.” 

As we were talking about the different foods we ate while growing up, Dr .BJ shared an interesting tidbit with us, “When I was little, I thought white people pooped white. I remember being in the bathroom when I was about six years old and not wanting the white kid next to me to flush so I could see the color of his poo.” “Very interesting,” I commented. “What color was your poo?” “Brown,” Dr. BJ answered. “Based on your theory, shouldn’t it be black?” “Good poo point,” Dr. BJ conceded.

Had a lovely dinner with DDDG and Skiwi. They just returned from New Zealand and were sharing all of their pictures and stories with me. As we were looking through the pictures, there were several lovely beach shots and then we hit a series of photos of Skiwi, with his shirt off – I’ve never seen someone click through photos so quickly. I asked if he would like me to leave the room while he cleaned up the photos, “No need,” he assured me. “We are almost to the most photographed waterfall in New Zealand.”

The first waterfall picture was set amongst lovely rocks and shrub. It was pretty, but nothing truly unusual. “Turns out we took a picture of the wrong waterfall,” Skiwi informed me. “We didn’t realize it until we were leaving the area and saw the signs,” DDDG added. Luckily, they followed the signs and were actually able to see and photograph the legitimate most photographed waterfall in New Zealand. Truth be told, they could have just shown me the first waterfall (which comparing the two photos now, it looked more like a small water line sprung a leak) and I would have never known the difference.

We then came to a picture taken from inside the vehicle, looking out onto a street and what appeared to be a dining patio. “This was really great,” Skiwi excitedly shared details of the picture. “I saw a sign for a coffee shop that provided the driver of the vehicle free coffee.” “Yes, and I sat in the car waiting for him forever,” DDDG said shaking her head. “Please tell me you didn’t sit and enjoy your coffee on the patio while she waited in the car,” I said to Skiwi. He replied, “I had to, they didn’t have to-go cups.” I could tell by the picture and DDDG’s expression, Skiwi’s coffee was no where near free.

As I was leaving we were discussing how nice it would be to not have to return to work after such a snowy, cold weekend. “I took last Monday off because it was Saturday” DDDG told me. “What?” I asked. “I took it off because I thought it was Saturday,” she repeated. “I was in bed, I woke up for a minute and thought ‘Is it Friday? No, it must be Saturday.’ Then, a little while later I woke up again and realized it was Monday, so I just took the day off.” Hmmm, I thought to myself……I see a Saturday in my future.

Met up with Alice and 25% for a book signing and reading with David Sedaris. Prior to heading to the bookstore, we shared some wine and Alice read to us from the book, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, which she had checked out from the library. Once we got to the bookstore we found some very decent seats right next to the podium. Unfortunately, David and his publicists had requested there be no photography, so I decided to use this opportunity to practice (aka, start) my drawing skills.

After he read, we waited, ever so patiently – really, we had wine waiting at home – for him to sign our books. Alice mentioned she could now return the copy of  his book to the library. I was bummed she didn’t bring it. I thought it might be nice to have him sign a library book – may help reduce any fines she currently owes. In fact, in the future I plan to only bring library books to signings.

While waiting in line we were discussing different tricks we could do. Both Alice and 25% can roll their tongues, I cannot. “I bet you can,” Alice said, “just try it.” I tried and while I was trying she said, “You’re not even trying.” “I am trying, I really am. I just can’t do it,” I said in defense of my lack of tongue curling skills. “Remember, there are a few tricks I can’t do, like rolling my tongue or winking.”  “You can wink,” she assured me while making a face I often make, “you do it all of the time in pictures.” “That’s not winking, that is just my drunk pose.”

Once we made it to the signing table we had a lovely little chat with David. 25% shared a funny pirates and nuts joke with him, which I’m sure he will share at his next reading and, before departing, I gave him my drawing, fine depiction of him, which I’m sure he will use on the back flap of his next book’s dust jacket – either that or it will soon be on display in the Louvre.

We returned to Alice’s house to finish off the wine and marinate in the memories of the reading. Hot Mustard joined in our discussions and 25% posed a very important question to him, “Can you roll your tongue?” He can and he did. “Don’t feel bad,” 25% comforted me, “Only about 25% of people can’t do it and there are four of us in the room, so, that makes us (gesturing to Hot Mustard, Alice and herself) the 75%, or three out of four, who can.” I, of course, didn’t feel bad, but decided to do some research. PBS confirmed two things for me: 1) the tongue rolling data cited by 25% is accurate, and 2) I am ‘the kid doing my own thing’.

Worked at the local furniture store for Black Friday. As I was assisting a customer, I heard Slam, one of our sales associates, respond to another sales associate in Spanish. I don’t  recall the question asked of him, but his response was, “Sí.” “Impressive,” I commented, “Slam, I didn’t realize you were bilingual.” “I’m bi-lot of things,” Slam replied and walked away.

As business slowed down I decided to read the dictionary in an attempt to brush up on my unilingual skills. Instead of starting at the beginning, I opted to just open the book and learn from whichever letter/page was there. To my surprise, I opened to a page full of ‘bi-.’ Due to the irony of the situation, I decided to make a list of the ‘bi-‘ things Slam may be.

Several minutes later Slam returned to my work area and I handed him the list. “What is this?” he asked. “A list of a lot of things you might bi, I mean be,” I replied. A customer was standing nearby and wanted in on the conversation, so I shared the story with her. “What bi- words do you have on the list?” she asked Slam. Slam started reading the list to her, “Bipolar, biracial, biased, biconvex, bituminous, bienniel…” when she interrupted with a pressing question. “What about bisexual?” “Oh yes,” Slam replied, “top of the list, I just didn’t read that one outloud.”

Later in the day, Slam returned to my work area and asked, “What was the deal with that customer – asking all of those questions of me, being so curious?” I replied, “She isn’t just curious Slam, she’s bi-curious.”

MiniMe and I were headed to OregganO’s when we decided to stop and pick up Alice. Alice, like so many people on holidays, wasn’t expecting us and was still in her pajamas. After a little coaxing (“Come on, it will be fun, I haven’t showered either”), she brushed her teeth, threw a fleece over her pajama top, and joined us for Bloody Mary’s. As we pulled in the driveway she got to see the ‘insulator,’ which at this point looked like a smoking cardboard box. “What the hell is that?” Alice asked. “It’s Cream of Tartar’s redneck invention, the ‘insulator,'” MiniMe informed her. “Isn’t it great?” “I really wouldn’t park too close,” Alice advised.

 

Once we got our Bloody Mary’s, Cream of Tartar took Alice and I outside to demonstrate the effectiveness of the ‘insulator.’ After hearing the explanation and having the opportunity to add some apple chips to the base of the smoker, Alice complimented Cream of Tartar on the smoking ‘insulator,’ “It is a great idea, especially because by having it out here your whole house won’t have to smell like turkey. I hate that.” Being a polite host, Cream of Tartar smiled. Being a punk, I informed Alice they had two other turkeys to prepare – one of which was currently in the oven and soon to be stinking up the house. “That reminds me,” Cream of Tartar said, “I’ve got to get the turkey roaster going. Things are about to get dangerous.” It was at this point that we thanked them for our drinks and wished them well until we met up again (which would be later that evening for dessert).

 

Not wanting to stink up the house (with turkey, potatoes or dish soap), MiniMe and I opted for dinner with I Noticed, QuQueen and The Leaver at a fine dining establishment. The menu was superb and the servers brought the courses out to us at just the right times – in between The Leaver’s frequent departures. The Leaver has a tendency to leave the scene either permanently early on or frequently throughout the course of an event. “I have ADD,” she informed us, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I get up and leave a lot.” “We hadn’t noticed,” QuQueen and I said in unison. “Oh, I noticed,” said I Noticed. “By the way, what are your pseudonyms in the blog?” I Noticed asked them and, before they answered, looked at me and said with pride, “I read the blog.” Once they shared their pseudonyms with her, she replied, “Makes sense.” “You’ll know when we’re in it,” The Leaver advised her, “because it will be really funny.” “And,” I added, “I’ll use their pseudonyms.”

 

After dinner, QuQueen, The Leaver and I went to OregganO’s for dessert. OregganO and Cream of Tartar had several people over – to include their French neighbor. I was speaking with the French neighbor’s wife about hair and she shared two rather interesting bits of information, 1) it is hard to please a French man, and 2) she cuts his hair, however, dulled the blades of the razor when she shaved the cat’s ass with it. The latter might be why she is struggling with pleasing him, French or otherwise.

 

As often happens at group gatherings, there were several conversations going at the same time. The Leaver was updating OregganO and a few of the other guests on some of her recent life adventures. I was in the other room, getting desserts ready and listening to The Leaver’s story. “You have no idea how stressed out I was,” The Leaver told OregganO, “I totally got an ulcer. Never had one before.” QuQueen responded with one of those responses that, no matter which conversation you were currently in, you quickly became part of this one, “That wasn’t an ulcer, that was diarrhea.”

 

Later in the evening, after most of the guests had left, we were discussing some of the various conversations that had taken place throughout the day. OregganO’s mother, Quite Contrary, had been privy to some interesting conversations. One of which involved French neighbor’s wife. “She told me she wishes she had a mother like me. You know why? Because I’m cool, I know things. Like, ‘what tf.'” “What?” we all asked. “You know,” Quite Contrary answered, giving us that ‘where have you been for the past 20 years’ look, “‘What tf.'” BurgerBoy quickly corrected her, “It’s ‘wtf’ mom, not ‘what tf’.” I’m siding with Quite Contrary on this one, ‘wtf’ is so last year. ‘What tf’ is what all the cool cats (with asses shaved with dull blades) say nowadays.

 

Patty Melt and Bus Driver decided to head out and, considering the fact that it was freezing outside and PattyMelt would have had to hop the fence to get to the car, Bus Driver went and got the car and then came in to retrieve her. As they were saying goodbye, Bus Driver made a special request, “I’d like to change my (pseudo) name in the blog, please. I’d like it to be ‘Chauffeur’.” “What tf, Bus Driver?!?!” I replied and then added, “OK, I’ll change it. From now on you are Chauffeur.” OregganO looked at me, laughed and said, “Seriously, what tf?” And, on that note, well, actually after MiniMe sang a few high notes for Quite Contrary, we went home.

I had the privilege of spending the entire day before Thanksgiving with OregganO and Cream of Tartar, helping them get ready for a large holiday dinner party. I had to leave for an hour or two, to tend to some dinner plans of my own, and as I was just getting ready to go back to their house (translation: was in line at the liquor store), I received a text message from OregganO, “Cream of Tartar has a redneck  invention he is dying to show you.”

We (Diggler and MiniMe had now joined in the festivities) arrived to find several towels over what appeared to be a cardboard box. I asked if I could remove the towels and Cream of Tartar told me I must first try and guess what it was. Foregoing the obvious (cardboard box), I guessed large house for a mouse or a turkey cage. The latter was close, but not the answer. After several more guesses, we unveiled the redneck invention, “It’s an insulator for the smoked turkey,” Cream of Tartar proudly announced. “Wow,” I said. “I am proper impressed with your skills. How did you come up with this concept?” “I just did, I’m smart like that,” he replied. “Do you think it will catch fire?” Diggler asked. “Only if we light it,” Cream of Tartar replied.

All of this turkey talk got me thinking and I shared my thoughts with everyone, “Sometimes I wish I was a turkey, so I could get stuffed.” The response I got was mixed and, feeling a bit like I needed to defend my comments, I added, “Don’t knock it. Just as I have a dream of being a turkey I am sure there are plenty of people out there wishing they were stuffing.”

As we continued to share our hopes and dreams with each other, we made an observation about Cream of Tartar. He has a tendency to do his own thing in other areas of the house. all the while remaining a part of our conversations. “Hey, hey where’s the meatloaf?” MiniMe shouted out. “What is he doing back there?” Diggler added. And a slight giggle is heard from the back of the house. I guess Cream of Tartar has seen Wedding Crashers.

A few minutes later, OregganO went to refresh her drink and got a glimpse of what Cream of Tartar was doing. “BurgerBoy, you’re in charge now, Cream of Tartar is journaling.” “I really am,” Cream of Tartar piped in. “He really is,” BurgerBoy confirmed. “What are you journaling?” I asked. “Day, time, weather, mood, moon. It’s my fishing journal,” Cream of Tartar shared with pride.

BurgerBoy was incredbly hungry and kept inquiring about food, “Where do you keep all of your premade food for when you have guests? Don’t you have anything for a burger? I just want a burger.” OregganO made us popcorn and decided to put some Parmesan flavorings on it (one of the mixes we had made several nights prior). In order to mix it up, she did the typewriter (thank you MC Hammer). It was even more impressive when she did the typewriter with wine in her hands.

With so much goodness in our minds (insulator, typewriter dance) and so much warmth in our bellies (wine, beer, whiskey, Parmesan popcorn), we decided to call it  a night. “Come back tomorrow morning for Bloody Marys and coffee,” Cream of Tartar suggested as we were leaving. “What a great idea,” I stated. “I know,” he smuggly replied, “it was mine.”

I was chatting with OregganO the other night when she asked me about Carl. I told her it looked like he may not be home for the holidays and went on to tell her FatGirl had told me that Carl has a cousin and his name is Carlos. Yes, FatGirl also has a herpe on his luscious lip. For the record, we are fully aware that there is a ‘s’ at the end of herpe, but we feel it sounds more humane sans ‘s’.

Turns out, MiniMe had also decided to go home for the holidays and had joined Dr. BJ and I for dinner and dessert. Dessert was a plate of cookies in the center of the table. I was reading about gift ideas and hadn’t noticed we were down to the last cookie. “The last cookie is for you,” Dr. BJ said to me with a smile. Having been in a situation like this before, I looked at Dr. BJ, Mini Me and then the cookie. With their eyes locked on me, I reached for the cookie, stated, “Thanks, but I don’t really want to eat it right now.” Brought the cookie to my lips, licked it, put it back on the plate and said, “I’ll eat that later.” Take that Last Piece Police! With or without Carl, nobody wants to eat a cookie topped with fresh DNA.

A few hours later, and all sugared up, Dr. BJ and I decided to checkout a house for sale several blocks away. It was after 10 PM and a ‘blizzard’, combined with freezing temperatures, had most people hold up in their homes. Most, excluding us. Upon arriving at the house, we did a quick parameter check then Dr. BJ said, “Do as you always do.” “What?” I asked. “Check the door, see if it’s locked.” I did, and it wasn’t. We were able to access the basement, but the main door to the house was locked and the light for the basement was just inside the main door. Luckily, Dr. BJ had a flashlight in his car. Within seconds, we were scouting out the mud room and basement. Dr. BJ had his hand on the flashlight and I had my hands in my zebra print gloves – I’ve seen a thing or two about fingerprints on those crime shows. No way I was leaving my DNA.

After our brief B & E (for those of you not in the field or who don’t watch Reno 911!, that stands for breaking and entering), we did as every good B & E’r does – went home, had some hot Tang and reminisced about our risk taking adventure. Adventure, like Carl, sans ‘s’.

When living in the now means being stuck in traffic, I prefer to live in the then. This morning I was living in the then, thinking about the time my sister worked for a plastic surgeon. It was several years ago and, outside of being a guinea pig for the girls needing aesthetician training hours, I never benefited from the doctor’s skills.

I did, however, regularly suggest marketing ideas, such as buy one boob get one free, boobaway (similar to layaway – one boob now, the other later) or half-off specials. Unfortunately, they weren’t interested in my ideas – they were only interested in whether or not the acid level of the chemical peel was burning my skin. Needless to say, I haven’t been back and it has been years since my sister worked there.

Which is why the phone call I received this morning, minutes after living in the then, brought me right back to the now. “Hi, this is Heather from Dr. Morton’s office.” “Dr. Morton? As in the plastic surgeon?” “Yes.” “Weird. My sister worked there years ago and I was just thinking about it minutes ago.” “That is weird,” Heather replied. “Well, anyway, I just left a message on your office phone about your appointment on the 10th.”

After being brought to the now with Heather’s call, I drifted back to the then because of the coincidence of it all and, with the information about the appointment, I was thrown right back in the now. “Appointment? What appointment?” I asked. “You have an appointment on the 10th at 4 PM for Botox.” This really surprised me, causing a very strong brow furrow. “Wow, I didn’t make an appointment for anything there.” “Oh,” Heather said with a hint of embarrassment, “We must have put the appointment on the wrong patient account. My apologies.”

I thought to myself, with my brow still furrowed (classic thinking expression), “Was that a coincidence or did I just get Rogained with Botox?” Don’t act like you’ve never sent or thought about sending Rogaine or Viagra flyers to an ex. I shared the story with OregganO and we both decided I got Rogained and that it was a brilliant little trick. With the holidays upon us, I fully plan to regift. Botox, lip injections, liposuction, implants, and reduction – we’ll schedule what we feel is best for you.

Maybe whoever Rogained me did it for my own good. Maybe they knew I frequently live in the then and there is no better way to not live in the now than Botox. My expression will be timeless, or is it stuck in time? I get confused, and when I get confused, I furrow my brow, and when I furrow my brow, someone else sets me an appointment for Botox. Well played.

Tree offered to make  a little brunch for us today and while waiting for him to arrive OregganO and I were discussing clothing. I’ve been getting rid of quite a few clothes as of late because I don’t have much closet space and it appears my dryer is working overtime – turning unitards from the Gap into onesies from Baby Gap.

I suggested to OregganO that we go shopping and buy some new underwear, “I really don’t like the thong style,” I told her, “They’re very small and they tend go up my butt.” “They are supposed to do that, they are thongs,” OregganO brilliantly replied. She is always so practical. “Yes, I know they are supposed to go up your back butt, but not your front butt,” I countered. “Look,” OregganO schooled me, “we’ve both got front butt right now and we’ve got to get used to it and embrace it.”

Tree finally made his way and started making brunch for us, while OregganO, Dr. BJ, Diggler and I chatted. Diggler and Dr. BJ were discussing Creatine when Diggler made an observation, “You’ve (Dr. BJ) been working out, I can see you’re pretty buff. You’re arms are huge.” “Yeah, I just wear an XS shirt,” Dr. BJ proudly shared his secret. “Ancient Chinese secret.” Good thing That’s Not Chinese wasn’t here. She would have shared another ancient Chinese secret with Dr. BJ, like the fact that he isn’t Chinese.

As the day progressed, Tree, Dr. BJ and I were the last guests standing or at least the lasts guests still at the house. Actually, we were sitting around the table, chatting and drinking White Russians (also not Chinese) when Tree got up, walked over to the comfy chair, and wrapped up in a blanket. “Are you tired?” Dr. BJ asked him. “Just getting comfortable,” Tree replied. Seconds later he was fast asleep.

A few hours later I ‘relit’ the yuletide fire log DVD (looks much better on the 32″ than it did on my 19″) and headed to the kitchen to make clam chowder. “I love clam chowder!” Tree exclaimed. While he was in the kitchen chatting with me, he received a phone call from Bi-as(s).  After the call he returned to the kitchen to share some big news with me. “Bi-as(s) asked how long I planned to stay here,” Tree informed me. “I told him, ‘It’s freezing outside, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be staying here until next spring hits.'”

The other day I paid my neighbor to clean out my rain gutters. When we agreed on the transaction he was outside, talking shop with some plumbers. I noticed his zipper was down, so I alerted him. “Casual Wednesday,” he replied.

Several days later Dr. BJ and I were sipping our morning coffee, when my neighbor made good on the deal. For whatever reason, sitting in the house drinking coffee while someone else cleaned up felt really nice. As we were watching him clean, I shared the zipper story with Dr. BJ, and his interest in gutter cleaning heightened.

A few minutes later I noticed the lights flicker and didn’t think much of it until I heard a knock at the back door – it was neighbor.  “So, something weird just happened,” he started to tell me. “Did you get electrocuted?” I asked. “Yes, I did,” he vacantly replied, “but it was only 120 volts so I should be fine.” This is exactly why I don’t do this stuff myself.

A little later in the afternoon Dr. BJ, OregganO and I went to Two Stamps’ house for a Tee party. We immediately got into the theme – teeing up all kinds of magic and creativity with the glue gun, flowers, bling, pipe cleaner and, of course, tees. Diggler left the main party area for a while and when he returned I asked what he had been doing. “Building a couch fort,” he responded. “Who wants to sit in a massage chair?” The latter was so intriguing to me that I didn’t ask for details about the couch fort.

I took Diggler up on the offer, scooted my chair closer to an outlet and let the massage commence. Apparently the vibrations were strong enough to be felt by others in the room (I’m guessing the feeling was slightly similar to my neighbor’s electrocution). Not wanting to be selfish, I asked OregganO if she would like to try it out. I’ve never seen her get up so fast. She sat on the massage chair, set her wine on the table in front of her and was just maneuvering into the perfect position when the wine glass vibrated off the table and into her lap.

As we were cleaning up the mess, we were reminded of Quagmire The Farting Ventriloquist. “What do you really think happened?” Two Stamps asked. “Who knows,” I replied. “What I do know, however,  is whenever I see people looking at or buying brooms I think to myself, ‘pervert’.”