Category: blog

I arrived late to a working lunch to find a sandwich and pasta waiting for me in a plastic container. I ate the pasta and intended to eat the sandwich but ran out of time before the next meeting, which I had to facilitate. I closed the lid on the container, put it next to my purse, facilitated for about three hours, then grabbed my stuff, got in the car and started the long drive home. Unfortunately, I was in the thick of rush hour so I wasn’t moving much. I decided I might snack on my sandwich, looked over to the container, and noticed movement inside. I took a closer look and saw ants.

 

By the time I finally made it home and threw away the lunch container I was starving. I decided to make chicken noodle soup so I prepared a broth complete with chopped vegetables, cooked the chicken, and then grabbed the noodles. I had poured nearly all of the noodles in the vegetable broth when I noticed weevils.

 

Luckily, I hadn’t put the chicken in the broth so I ended making a salad with chicken breast and quietly enjoying dinner in the front room. Although I had listened to music while making my chicken weevil soup, the music ended just as I sat down at the table. I embraced the silence and ate in peace. About twenty-five minutes later I heard several male voices come from the corner or my front room and quickly, with a wee(vil) bit of fear, surmised it was the ghost track on the CD.

 

The ghost track, like the weevils and the ants, were definitely were definitely unexpected dining guests.

 

As we gathered together for the National Corndog Day Delay Relay it became very clear that Ice Cream Man was, as often happens, outnumbered.

 

Fortunately, Ice Cream Man can handle these odds. We did as we always do on days like this – enjoyed beverages and caught up on some of the most pressing topics of the day. As Live Longer shared a work related story, in which she was able to demonstrate incredible multi-tasking skills, Ice Cream Man quickly moved from ‘marriage hearing’ to just plain hearing. “Do you flush your tampons down the toilet?” he asked Sleepless. “Yes, of course,” she replied. “Yes, of course? Are you serious? That stops today!” he instructed, completely blown away by the response. “Where should I put them instead?” Sleepless asked. “Maybe in the round bin next to the toilet where you put your used toilet paper,” I sarcastically suggested.

 

Ice Cream Man continued to be bothered by the fact that tampons were being flushed down the toilet and we continued to make comments to get his goat. “This is like a labia lineup,” he told us. Not sure what he meant by that, but I know two things for sure: Live Longer can multi-task and Sleeples cannot flush tampons down Ice Cream Man’s toilet.

A former coworker recently invited me and a few other female coworkers to dinner at a private club. Several times before the actual date of the event she sent us email reminders detailing the need to ‘don ladies wear’ and ‘BYOB.’

 

Being that I would be coming straight from work, I figured my business attire would suffice. I arrived at this posh venue to find a mix of women and men dining at several tables  and engaged in lively conversation. Although this club started nearly 100 years as a ‘women only’ establishment – to prove their point to the ‘men only’ establishment down the street – they do allow men to visit so long as they are with a female member of the club. The rules of membership have not changed since the inception; one may not apply, rather, must be nominated to join.

 

One of the most recent nominees – my hostess – was seated at a table, patiently waiting my arrival, donning a black dress, heels, a pearl necklace and a diamond bracelet. “Look at you! Love the pearls – I usually only wear those for interviews and book club,” I told her. “Thank you. I’ll take your coat and, heads up, no cell phones in the dining room. They are a no-no,” she informed me then handed my coat to one of the club staff.

 

I put my phone in my purse, pulled out my bottle of wine, and got ready to dine.

 

The dinner was lovely and when it ended the chef joined us in the dining room where we applauded her and then gave personal thanks as she made her way to each table.  As other guests started clearing out, our hostess told us, “You’ve gotta see the bathrooms. Let’s go upstairs.”

 

As we made our way to the loos, we passed the Bridge room(s), the lecture room and the tea room. “They have high tea daily,”our hostess advised and added, “Let’s come back for high tea.” I’d like that and, just like tonight, I’ll BYOB. This time, however, it will most likely be a flask – I’m posh like that.

Every now and again a local ad agency uses my home to shoot ad material. The first time they did it was for a commercial about Meth use. This time, I wasn’t sure it would entail, but they informed me it was for a power company.

 

Being that I can’t afford to sit around eating bon bons and waiting for film and photography crews to arrive at my house, I went to work until I knew for sure they were there. I drove home to find three gentleman sitting on my stoop and several pieces of lighting equipment in place and ready to go.

 

I let them in the house then retreated to the back bedroom to work. I stepped out momentarily to observe the ‘talent’ standing in the corner of my dining room, next to my 1950s radio, wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and holding a loaded caulk gun. “How do you like our caulk hero?” the producer asked. “Nice,” I replied and retreated to the bedroom.

 

As I worked, I overheard the photographer and the producer directing the talent, “Any chance you could be a little less caulky?” “More smile, less caulk.” “Move the caulk a little to the right.” “Hold it up a little. Perfect!”

 

I decided overhearing the comments and making my own decisions about what was really happening in the front  of my house was far more entertaining than what was probably really taking place. It’s not every day that Caulk Hero makes a house call.

Perhaps if we all read more we would know more. Another option, however, is experiential learning. There are some things, however, I’d rather learn from a book or someone else.

 

A prime example is golden showers. I really don’t need or desire to experience this to understand the meaning. I learned about it when I was young, when my cousin informed me this was how one gets pregnant, “A woman sits on the toilet and a man pees in between her legs.” Although this was clearly not an accurate accounting of conception, it was a good indication that my aunt or someone she was dating was into water sports. Apparently my cousin never shared this information with Beaner, because she asked what it was at book club, when we were discussing sex and dating.

 

From here, our conversation turned to sex toys. “We should totally read a book about sex. If I didn’t have the ability to be a lawyer, I would totally do something related to sex for work,” one of the book clubbers, an attorney, excitedly told us. She then went on to describe a ‘spit cup’ of sorts for those who are into fellatio. You can’t read that in a book. Well, you probably can, but the pages are probably stuck together.

 

While we were all asking questions about acts, devices, and other things with which we weren’t entirely familiar, Sleepless posed a question that was related to all of these things and our newly acquired only dating profile. “What’s a cornhole?” In addition to being a fun lawn game, it’s also another name for one’s anus. Like the lawn game, a bag in the cornhole scores three points.

 

Book club, it’s not for your average reader.

Our book club ended the way it often ends – completely off topic. Actually, maybe it was on topic considering the book we were supposed to read was focused on one going their own way.

 

After a near-the-end round of shots we decided to create a profile on on online dating site for farmers. Ashterisk took the initiative and signed up using her email. Like others on the site, we were given a generic handle – something like ‘farmer5760981,’ and we were asked to provide basic information about us. Our first tagline was ‘udderly booty full.’ We were really pleased with this selection and felt it would draw a larger crowd than Cheyenne Frontier Days.

 

We then went on to mention traits, to include ‘a-corn-mazing personality.’ This was also a proud moment. Lastly, and most importantly, we took pictures. This is where we hopped off the tractor and the rubber hit the road.

 

I grabbed a red Solo cup, held it in front of most of my face, and smiled with my “I failed to use sunscreen when shucking the corn” wrinkled forehead. “Your hand looks so fat,” Ashterisk commented. “Those are farming hands!” I retorted. I then posed for several more unflattering photos which, sadly, happened all too naturally. Beaner, BioMom, Rated R and others stepped in for a group photo and then we got the cream of the crop shot – BioMom’s ‘my tractor is broken,’ cleavage shot. The fact that she classed it up with pearls made it even better.
Nearly 24 hours later and nobody is grazing on us yet. Such a shocker. After looking at the prospects I had thought we were as good, if not better, than the first milk of the day and tons of farmers would be knocking down our barn door. Sadly, not one flirt. Guess it’s best not to
count the chickens before they hatch.

 

I’ll remain hopeful because, as Brenda Schoepp’s grandfather used to say, “Once in your life you need a doctor, a lawyer, a policeman and a preacher, but every day, three times a day, you need a doctor.”Amen. My fields need plowed.

It’s hard to believe it has already been a month since we went bowling for book club. This month, when I got the invitation, I noted the date and time and didn’t really think about it again until, one week before the date, someone told me we were actually reading a book. “What? Why? Where did it say that?” was my reply.

 

Turns out Ashterisk wanted us all to read a book about a woman and her travels. I began trying to locate the book, all to no avail; I even checked at Powell’s – The City of Books. “We don’t have it. I can get it from a rare warehouse, but it will take at least a week,” the sales associate told me, then added, “You should tell your book club to pick books people can find.”

 

The night of book club arrived and Rated R and I opted to car pool. “Do I need to bring anything?” I asked. “An international wine or food,” she replied. Fortunately, I had hummus in my fridge and a variety of random bags of crackers – that seemed pretty worldly.

 

We arrived to learn we weren’t the only clubbers who had not read the book. “Next time we should just do facials,” someone suggested. “We could do Botox!” said another. And so it was decided, we would do Botox next month. Or was it bake? I don’t know. All I know, for sure, is that we didn’t pick a book.

While visiting with friends in Portland I learned of a four-day long game convention. This game convention is not just for anyone – it is for serious board game players. Yes, board games. They also have card, tournament and other game-like activities for committed gamers.

 

“It’s pretty much nerd central,” my friend told me. “A lot of people dress up.” “Are you dressing up as a dragon from Dungeons and Dragons?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “Maybe you could dress up as King Kandy from Candy Land or Rich “Uncle” Pennybags from Monopoly,” I suggested. He failed to take my advice.

 

As he prepared to attend day three of the convention he filled us in on the first weekend night of the convention, “The halls were nuts last night. Tons of LARPing.” “LARPing?” “Live action role playing – in costume,” he advised. “You should get in on that today. Why don’t you dress up? Also, do they play Twister at the convention?” I had so many questions. ” Just getting dressed today I realized I don’t fit in,” he said, looking down at this 1970s golf shirt and jeans. “What would it take to fit in, besides a costume?” I asked. “Just a coffee stain on my shirt,” he replied.

 

Just then, his ride arrived – games in trunk and ready to go. Not wanting to keep his ride waiting, and truly anxious to get back in the game, he left sans stain. Sorry he didn’t have time for the coffee stain – he is definitely taking a Risk there. Hopefully, the LARPers won’t have a Monopoly on the playing field; if they do, well, that’s LIFE.

 

 

After nearly a week of staying in our hotel I realized we put the ‘ho’ in ‘hotel.’

 

The first night in the room was great – we all slept really well and really late into the morning. Upon waking, we discovered this was due to the use of the blackout shade.

 

Wanting to get up relatively early on subsequent mornings, we opted against using the blackout shade and only using the first/thinner shade.

 

For some reason, we assumed this shade was like a two-way mirror – we could see through it, but nobody on the other side could see us.

 

It wasn’t until the second to last night that I discovered what passersby had been discovering all week long – the thin shade swerved no true purpose and anyone could see everything going on in our room.

 

Portland, you’re welcome.

In the last month I have had several people tell me people in Portland love to line up. “If you want something fun to do while you’re here,  just go stand somewhere and see how quickly people line up behind you; having no clue or care as to why they’re doing it. Portlanders love lines.”

 

As we tooled around town, and saw loads of people in a multitude of lines, we began to realize this theory may have some merit.

 

One day, as we walked around town, we saw a large group of people near a marquee. “what do you think is happening over there?” I asked. “Looks like a line,” MiniMe replied. “Should we make like locals and get in it?” I suggested. “Sure,” she said.  About 30 minutes later, we were watching a movie.

 

The next day we took MiniMe to the airport so she could return home. Prior to her going through security we chatted near the screening are for about five minutes. During this time several groups of individuals lined up behind us and, subsequently, we had to tell several groups of individuals that we were not in line. The last group – approximately fifteen travelers – was the largest. “I think it’s time you get in the line you created,” I advised MiniMe. She did, and those lined up behind her patiently made their way through security.

 

I shared this story with I Noticed who shared an observation with me, “Lines are the reason we ended up going to a movie last night.” She was correct. It appears the queue is often the clue of what one is about to do.