Category: blog

3000 years before Christ was born someone in Switzerland decided to schenkel. Schenkel is Dutch for skate, however, actually means leg bone – which is what was used to craft the first pair of ice skates. Leg bone with leather straps. Over time, the ice skate transformed from bone to wood with a metal blade on the bottom.

 

From that point forward, people started getting crazy on the glaciarium (translation: refrigerated ice rink)  – doing all kinds of toe pick jumps, spins and, as I witnessed the other day, face plants.

 

When Beaner invited me to join her and her family for ice skating I was flattered. I hadn’t been for years and, being that the last time I broke a bone was on ice, I was looking for redemption.

 

As Beaner and I carefully entered the rink she almost fell and, without thinking about it, grabbed me for support. “You grab me for support? Bold move,” I replied. Luckily, we both remained vertical. At the same time that she nearly fell, at least four other patrons were in some sort of injury position on the ice. “Ice skating is such a bad idea,” I told Beaner then realized that sounded incredibly unappreciative since she invited me to join her. Thus, I added, “I’m not saying you wanting to go ice skating is bad; I’m just saying it seems like such a dangerous sport.” Right then, another patron hit the rink, face forward, legs flailing.

 

Fortunately, we were able to enjoy approximately two hours of skating – only interrupted once by the Zamboni – sans incident. Sadly, the same could not be said of other patrons. There was more than one time that we had to skate around a child or adult who had just biffed it. On one occasion, Beaner’s husband stopped quick and spread his legs in an attempt to go both around and over a fallen patron – this resulted in a pulled groin for him and a whole lot of laughs for us.

 

Had judges been present at our ice capade our score would have been – on an Olympic scale of 0.0 – 6.0 – 0.0. We might not be going home with the gold, but we’re also not going home with sprains, fractures, breaks, tears, head injuries or lacerations. Ice skating, go figure.

The words half-yearly or semiannual are generally tied to sales or smoke detectors but for a few of my alumni and I this is how often we get together to catch up, eat, drink, do karaoke and stay up all night – just like when we were how ever old we were six months prior.

 

The Elite Alumni Reunion, or ‘EAR’ as we like to call it, is truly for the most elite of our high school class and the First of the Year EAR was properly attended by the brightest and finest – Scared, BeCuz, On My Terms, Mini Sparkle Donut and me.

 

While snacking on a cheese ball and crackers BeCuz reminisced about someone from school. When On My Terms asked for a little more information about the person BeCuz said, “I think he was from the 8th ward.” This provided zero clarity for any of us. “The 8th ward? Really? Well I’m from the mental ward,” was On My Terms’ reply.

 

Our discussion quickly moved from wards to stakes – not the kind of stake that supports a plant or tree (although On My Terms, on her 6th Rum and Sum – a little bit of rum and a whole lot of Diet Coke, might benefit from that kind of stake). I shared a story about a non-elite alumnus running away, breaking into a stake center, bathing in the baptismal font and eating all of the sacramental bread. The alumnus who did this was quite short but, based on this bold move, he immediately became quite tall in the eyes of his alumni.

 

The natural progression of this discussion moved to vajayjays; specifically, my old vajayjay. I shared the story of my doctor visit with my alumni and they all listened rather intently. “I don’t think that’s half as bad as what I was once told,” Scared advised us. “What did they tell you”? we persisted. “That I was loose,” she reported. “Has your husband said anything about you being loose?” I asked. “No and, even if I am, he wouldn’t say anything. He’s too polite,” she replied. Clearly, we are not, regardless of which ward or stake we claim.

Today Sleepless and I enjoyed lunch and stories with one of our favorite prosecutors.

 

As he shared a story about a homicide it was clear he had become a bit disenchanted with the forensic process. “It shouldn’t take this long. Seriously, I know, I’ve watched cop shows.”

 

“You’ve watched cop shows? Is that where you get most of your training?” Sleepless asked.
Instead of responding he just continued on with his story. Based on this behavior I have a feeling he might be hiding something. I know, I’ve watched Alaska State Troopers with Rated R.

 

I’m thinking about starting a cruise line and calling it ‘Tight.’

 

Some may say, based on recent problems at high sea, that this is a sinking proposition.

 

Perhaps. Regardless, I’ll still be running a tight ship.

Found this ‘important note’ on my phone today:

He can see things.

No idea what it means.

A freelance Austrian photograper in need of a place to stay recently stayed with me and, at the end of her gig, shared details of her Sundance romance.

 

The romance was quick, sweet and truly romantic – set in a large house with a fireplace, loads of rooms and nestled in the mountains. Even with all of the rooms, she and her beau opted to share a bed. “It was very nice. We just kissed and cuddled,” she told me and then I shared the story with She’s A Fine Girl, Sleepless and Ice Cream Man while at dinner.

 

“Really? You just cuddled and kissed,” Sleepless asked her while moving her lips to demonstrate kissing. “Why are you doing that?” Ice Cream Man asked and added, “She speaks English, there’s no need for assistive gestures. That’s like me speaking slower when we’re in Mexico. Not necessary.” “I was just giving some extra help,” Sleepless responded.

 

“I like it. By the way, this is what they didn’t do,” I said and then showed them a few thins she and her beau didn’t do – fingers in a V shape with tongue moving in and out, right hand in a slightly open fist, left pointer finger going in and out. I was just trying to give a little extra help.

Once we realized the Polaroid was a thing of the past we focused on important matters of the present, like celebrities in rehab.

 

“You know Ke$ha is in rehab,” Tree said. “That’s good. She needs to address her mental illness,” I said. “She isn’t mentally ill, she’s really talented,” Tree said in her defense. “She is really talented. A lot of people with mental illness are really talented and really intelligent, but she truly believed she had a monster in her vagina,” I advised. “Maybe she did,” Tree said. “Not anymore – she had an exorcism,” Awkward piped in. “If I ever have a monster in my vagina it better be a good eater,” I said. “Agreed,” said Sleepless. “Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom,” Awkward quipped.

 

Our conversation soon turned to a spiritually retreat in which That’s Not Chinese participated several years ago. Participants were encouraged, by the Shaman, to refrain from sexual activity during the retreat. During the retreat, That’s Not Chinese slept with the Shaman. “How does that happen?” Ice Cream Man asked. “In a pond or lake; that’s how it happened in Peru,” Tree replied. Ice Cream Man put his arms/hands in the air in the ‘Namaste’ position and, just before he attempted to say, ‘Namaste,’ Awkward, who was clearly on a roll, said, “Nom, nom, nom, nom Namaste.”

 

Tree and Awkward went secondhand shopping in hopes of finding some gems and, luckily, their hopes were fulfilled.

 

Tree’s favorite purchase was a $12 Polaroid camera. Immediately after purchasing it he purchased a package of film – 8 shots – for $28. He could not wait to take instant $5/piece pictures, thus, headed to my house straight away with the camera hanging around his neck.

 

As soon as I saw him at the door I knew he had a photo shoot in mind and immediately grabbed my Polaroid so he could take a picture of me taking a picture of him. He pressed the  button and the camera flashed then spit out a picture. Nothing appeared to be happening – no streaking of color, just white on white. “Should I shake it?” he asked. “No. Outkast had it wrong,” I replied.

 

We waited a minute or so and then decided we should try the film in my camera (since we knew it worked). Doing this resulted in wasting one of the pictures. When it worked we put it back in his camera and wasted another picture. Not wanting to truly waste the pictures, I figured out a way to put them in my empty cartridge and we tried it again. No luck – all white on white.

 

“Oh, look at this, instructions. Apparently it takes 30-40 minutes, in a dark place, for them to process,” Tree said and added, “Not so instant.”

While at lunch with a coworker she asked me a question, “Have you ever  been married?” “Yes, I was married once.” “How long?” she aked. “We were together – dating off and on, then married – for six years, but I was only married for….Actually, I really don’t remember when I got married, but I think I was married for two or three years,” I replied. “After that I was single for about a year and then dated and lived with someone for about six years,” I told her. “Wow, so you do long term relationships,” she said. “I guess so. I’ve been in a long-term relationship with myself for the last six years,” I told her. She nodded in response.

 

“Do you date?” she asked. “Do I date? I guess I date,” I said and added, “Most of the guys I ‘date’ live in other states or countries.” “Does anybody think it’s weird that you’re not really dating anybody?” she asked. “Besides me, now? No, I don’t think so,” I replied. “I mean, it’s just that it seems like you shouldn’t have any problems dating, you know,” she said, doing something my grandma once warned me about – digging a hole for so long it becomes a grave.

 

“My friend (Sleepless) once considered lining me up with a mailman because I like mail, but he looked too much like my brother,” I told her, trying to justify my single status. “Hmmm,” she said. Yes, hmmm. I like clothes, but I don’t want to date a tailor. I like eating, but I don’t want to date a server. I like wine, but I don’t want to date a sommelier. That said, I’d probably date a mailman, server or sommelier if they lived elsewhere.

 

I ended up with an extra ticket to a Sundance movie so I invited That’s Not Chinese to join me. Surprisingly, she was up for this last minute adventure.

 

I arrived at the venue early, to ensure a spot in line, and immediately phoned That’s Not Chinese to advise her of the $5, cash only, parking fee. “I don’t have any cash,” she replied. “I figured you wouldn’t – that’s why I called. I’ve got cash, I’ll pay it and give the parking attendant your info so I can go inside and get in line,” I advised.

 

I told the parking attendant the situation, paid the five dollars, and he asked, “Do you have a cell phone?” “Yes, why?” “So you can call her and tell her the plan,” he said. “I already did. That’s why I’m here now,” I replied. “OK,” he said and handed me her parking ticket, “Give this to her when she gets her and make sure she tells me the plan,” he advised handing me the ticket and completing botching my plan.

 

So, instead of going into the theater, I waited until I could see That’s Not Chinese’s car, ran into traffic, gave her the ticket and then hustled into the theater. Once we were seated and others were paying me for their tickets she said, “I never have cash.  I’ll make you dinner. How about that? You know there will be meat. No, wait, salmon. We’ll do salmon.” To prove her no cash point she opened her wallet and, low and behold, a five dollar bill was boldly resting inside. “Look at that!,” she said, laughed and proudly added, “I am totally going to be in the blog!” “That salmon better be good,” I replied .