Category: blog

Forty-one years ago this month Martin Cooper made a call on a brick cellular phone. Not only did he make history (and millions) with this incredible invention, he also changed the world of communications as we knew it.

 

In 1973, while he walked around town chatting it up on his cellular phone, I was busy pulling around my Fisher Price chatter phone.

 

Fast forward to this month and I’m sitting in my front room with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man, each of us on our cellular phones – texting, watching videos, Googling or who knows what.

 

Ice Cream Man eventually fell asleep, as he often does, and Sleepless and I continued chatting while surfing the world wide web on our mobile devices.

 

All of a sudden, Sleepless got a shocked look on her face. “What is it?” I asked. “I’m getting a call,” she said and turned her phone toward me as if displaying a rare, foreign object. “Wow,” I said and asked, “First time?” “I never get calls,” she said, then respectfully declined the incoming call.

 

I’m not sure who was calling her or whether or not their call was urgent, but I hope it wasn’t somebody who was kicking off an amazing new invention.

 

Can you imagine if  Joel Engel hadn’t answered his phone on April 3, 1973? Thank goodness he did and, more importantly, since they were rivals, thank goodness caller ID had not yet been invented.

Sleepless and I were given the responsibility of retrieving a guest from the airport. Being that we had never met this person, and the purpose of the visit was work related, we opted against dressing up/making an appearance. That was a sad moment for everyone.

 

Prior to arriving at the airport we stopped at a local news station to participate in a quick interview. We spent a few minutes in the green room (don’t be fooled by what you see on TV, a real TV green room is not at all like a ‘TV’ green room) and then made our way to the studio.

Within minutes of being in studio we decided to commandeer the morning set and document our ‘guest appearance’ in an attempt to impress our friends (and, hopefully, cause some concern for Tree).

 

Approximately 90 seconds later our interview was complete and our guest appearance quickly turned into guest disappearance.

The other day while rummaging through several CDs I found an unmarked CD and decided to take a chance. The first song on the CD, “Girls Like You” by Naked and Famous made me think, perhaps, this was a CD made for me by Tree.

 

When the second song, “That’s the Good Stuff” by Kenny Chesney started played it made me think this may not be a Tree compilation. Then I remembered he has a soft spot for country dancing and cowboys, and the next few songs, “Pumped Up Kicks,” by Foster the People, “Angels and Airwaves” by Valkyrie Missile and “Punching in a Dream” by Naked and Famous definitely seemed like something he would favor.

 

“Goodbye Horses” by Q Lazzarus started playing and I once again wondered about the mix master. A few minutes later “Let’s Make a Night to Remember” by Bryan Adams played and my mix-stery was solved. This compilation, though unmarked, had Ice Cream Man written all over it.

 
I played the CD when Ice Cream Man and Sleepless were at my house. At first he wasn’t entirely sure it was his mix. Sleepless, on the other hand, thought it had a very ‘road trip’ feel to it, thus, felt the chances were pretty good that it was his.

 

When Ice  Cream Man heard “Goodbye Horses” he asked, “Can you guess what movie this is in?” “Manhunter?” I replied. “Manhunter? Unbelievable. Nobody knows about Manhunter – that was based on Red Dragon. Wow. It’s Silence of the Lambs, but Manhunter preceded it. I can’t believe you know about Manhunter.”

 

By this time, the next song was playing, Ice Cream Man was done reminiscing about Thomas Harris novels and had moved on to reminiscing about days gone by. “This song is my all-time favorite. What a great song!  What a great concert,” he told Sleepless and I while belting out, “Let’s make out, let’s do something amazing.” “Let’s make out? Really?” I asked. “Are you sure it’s not let’s make love?” Sleepless inquired. “No, it’s let’s make out. Bryan Adams knows what he’s doing. He takes his time and does it right. Girls don’t want to be rushed,” Ice Cream Man told us.

 

I don’t need Robert Stack or Dennis Farina to solve my unsolved mix-steries; I just need a couple of hours with Ice Cream Man and Sleepless. Not only did we solve the case of the unmarked CD, we also learned that Ice Cream Man definitely wants his headstone marked, with the lyrics of “Solsbury Hill.” “You can keep my things they’ve come to take me home,” he proudly sang to us. “Fine with me. I’m keeping your unmarked CD,” I informed him.

 

The other day I received a text message from Live Longer asking Tree and I if it would be difficult to grab brunch on Easter Sunday and wondering if we should reschedule. I had no idea we had brunch plans, but  always like an opportunity to hang out.

 

Tree immediately responded suggesting that we make brunch at my house. Within one text message I went from not having any plans on Easter Sunday to hosting brunch. As a result, I decided to make it a party of sorts and extended an invitation to Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and Rated R.

 

Three days before Easter Sunday I received a text from Live Longer, respectfully declining brunch. Fortunately, Tree was still planning on it as were Ice Cream Man and Sleepless; Rated R had other plans.

 

Easter Sunday arrived, I exited my tomb early to prepare rolls, ham and quiche, and then headed to the store to buy ingredients for Easter Sunday drinks – Bloody Mary’s and Second Mimosa Coming.

 

A few hours later Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and Little Sleep arrived ready to eat. Tree and Awkward, however, never showed. Hopefully, one day, they’ll resurrect.

Being that Easter with my family does not involve an egg hunt, rather, is more likely to involve a hunt for who might be violating a protective order, I opted to spend it with Sleepless, Little Sleep, Ice Cream Man, Ashterisk, and two of their parents.

 

I arrived late and unfashionable  – I hate just finished working in my yard and, with the exception of a clean bandage on my wound, I was a bit of a dirty girl. Fortunately, for me, they had been enjoying apéritifs and had not yet started dinner. Little Sleep offered to say a prayer and, as she did so, Ashterisk and Rip made noises and giggled. Little Sleep finished the prayer (luckily it was a short one) and Ashterisk clapped. I have a great amount of respect for Ashterisk.

 

We started dinner and it was like an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond with cameo appearances from the entire cast of Arrested Development. At one point I excused myself to go to the restroom and, while in there,  I heard Rip asking if I’d like to have another baby. I came out of the restroom and told him, “I would, but it isn’t possible.” “Have you tried butter?” he said, then dipped the butter knife into the soft brick of butter sitting on the table. “No,” I replied.

 

“Here we go with the Rip Tips,” Ice Cream Man said. “We should get him a show,” Ashterisk suggested and added, “Having trouble with your sex life? Try  butter. That was Rip Tips. We now return to your regular scheduled program.” “Even better,” Ice Cream Man proudly interjected, “Just the Tip. From, Rip.” He was right. That title was even better.  “Just the tip, that’s how I got you,” Rip informed Ashterisk, paying no heed to our plans for television. Two episodes, scripted and ready to go!

 

Cutting my hand open and, subsequently, being able to look into my innards via the slashed gash that I created reminded me of last night’s conversation about labiaplasty.

 

“People get face lifts, boob jobs, tummy tucks and vagine work – many times all in the same visit,” Big Bounty informed us and added, “the size of the penis does make a difference.”

 

Years ago Har’s (ex) boyfriend had told me that girls in porn, who had experienced a lot of intercourse, had darker labia. I never tested the theory out, nor did I dispute it – I knew he watched a lot of porn, so I figured the information came from a reliable source.

 

“Really?” I asked Big Bounty. “Yes, but if anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me,” she replied. Loose lips sink ships.

 

I’ve not been able to verify either theory, thus, don’t believe either to be entirely true. Regardless, I highly recommend kegeling regularly – during staff meetings, commuting, giving blood, road trips, etc. In addition, I’ve come to the conclusion that size does in fact matter; especially if one’s insurance does not cover labiaplasty.

Last year for Spring Break I broke my shoulder. This year, I cut my hand.

 

This fine Spring day I had decided to enjoy a lovely and healthy avocado sandwich. I cut the avocado in half and then stuck the knife into the pit in an attempt to pop it out. The knife went through the pit and into my hand – right in between my index finger and my middle finger. As a result, I was bleeding a wee bit and able to look right into my hand.

 

Being that I had things to do, I blotted it with a paper towel then wrapped my fingers together with Band-Aids to stop the bleeding. I then hopped in the shower, quickly got ready for the day, and headed to an emergency clinic. The admissions tech advised me that the wait was much shorter at a nearby location so I got in my car and quickly drove to the other location. Upon arriving, I shared my story with the admission tech and she said, “Ugh, hold on a minute.” She then returned and told me, “Our doctor has a broken hand and can’t do any sutures today.” Alas, I got back in my car and returned to the place I had started.

 

60 minutes later, my hand was being doused with pain meds, iodine and, eventually, stitches. No need for Spring Break when one can have Spring Cut. There’s also no need to eat healthy. I tossed the avocado and bread into the bin and opted for take-out – something I had thought about doing several hours prior. Lesson learned: Go with your gut and you won’t get cut.

The other day Sleepless and I noticed something that only a blind man wouldn’t see – major camel toe. We had both seen camel toe before, but this one was epic. So much so, we both couldn’t help but wondered how the owner didn’t notice the protrusion.

 

We discussed this with Live Longer, Big Bounty, Oper and others one evening. “Thanks to Dr. 90210 I was convinced I needed a labiaplasty,” one of the guests told us. “That’s pretty popular in New York,” Big Bounty advised us. The guest who was obsessed with Dr. 90210 went on, “After watching so many procedures I wanted to see what other people’s labias looked like so I started asking my friends to show me theirs. My one friend totally trou dropped without hesitation. It’s amazing, everybody’s labia looks different.” “How many have you seen?” I asked. “Three,” she replied. I guess three equates to everybody.

 

After this discussion I came home and got a call from On My Terms who informed me, “I had no idea about a receding hairline in the nether regions until you mentioned it. I was cleaning up my ‘winter coat’ today and noticed I have bare patches in my pubic region.” “A phenomenon I refer to as ‘snatchwork quilt’,” I advised her. “Receding hairline, snatchwork quilt, whatever you want to call it, I don’t like it. I’m keeping this stuff out of sight,” she said. “No trou dropping for you,” I told her.

 

Karma kicked in the next day when I arrived at Zumba to find my pants we’re totally causing cameltoe. Not one to embrace this look, I put my shirt on backwards in an attempt to do as Khloé Kardashian does – cover the camel. Although I won’t be dropping trou to check out my labia, I will be dropping these trousers off at the second hand store as soon as possible.

In an attempt to leave our behinds behind Sleepless, Beaner, Live Longer and I have been exercising and then heading straight to brunch, lunch, dinner or drinks. As a result, our behinds are remaining boldly in tact, behind us.

 

Today, as we were in our favorite place to be in class – back row and out of the direct line of vision of our instructor, I noticed someone else had left something behind – a piece of toilet paper.

 

“Did that fall out of your pants?” I asked Sleepless. “No, did it fall out of yours?” she quipped. “I don’t have toilet paper like that,” I told her and turned to Beaner. “Not mine,” she quickly replied.

 

We’ll most likely never know the owner of the toilet paper and we are more than OK with leaving it behind.