Category: blog

Fortunately the last minute shopping excursion proved promising and allowed Live Longer, Tree, Awkward, Awkward’s wee one and I to don ‘ugly’ Christmas sweaters, novelty holiday boxer shorts (Live Longer totally scored and found an elf hat and shorts), and Santa Hats to retrieve MiniMe.

 

We gathered at Grigio Manor to decide on who would wear what and really sealed the deal with Tree’s combo: chimney boxer shorts and a size 6 child’s sweater that was tighter than a hipster’s jeans and shorter than Kim Kardashian’s first marriage.

 

As we do with most, if not all, of our airport pick-ups, we decided to make signs for the line. Being that I’ve been wanting to host a pimp n ho-liday party, we opted for this pick-up line: Welcome Ho Ho Home! #pimpnholiday

 

With our signs, hats, sweaters, and boxers in tow we headed to the airport for what was sure to be a pimpnholiday surprise!

 

 

 

In preparation for MiniMe’s Great White Flight I decided to go shopping and discussed this idea, via text with Live Longer. I was reminded, as I often am via typed messages from her, of how much fun messaging can be:

 

Me: Do you have any Santa hats?
Live Longer: No

Me: No worries:-) I’m thinking Santa hats and ugly sweaters. Thoughts?

Live Longer: I like but I would need to run to the store in the am. I don’t even have an ugly sweater

Me: I may run to the store tonight. I’m checking on ugly sweaters now.

Live Longer: I will join you is you go

Me: OK Where do you think we should go? Smith’s Marketplace?

Live Longer: Smiths or target or shoplifting

 

She followed that last text with this text: Shopko

 

I preferred the previous text, so we headed to Smith’s for a little Christmas shopliftping.

MiniMe has spent the last six months living in a state where she can see Russia from her window. She has acclimated quite well and has acquired all of the traditional attire necessary to combat the freezing temperatures. In addition, she has made a lot of friends and has found more to do than just basketball and wrestling. For example, eating, drinking and watching TV. Thus, it sounds and feels a lot like home.

 

Regardless of the acclimation and similarities, she, like many others in this burrough, wanted to go home for the holidays – something the natives refer to as the ‘Great White Flight.’ Yes, this is the time of year when the majority of the Caucasians leave town.

 

I get the analogy, but for me, I see it differently. When I see the great white snow outside the first thing I want to do is fly off to somewhere else. Great white flight, right?

 

 

I truly have no idea where I was going with this.

Anyone who knows, please drop me a line.

Based on the fact that On My Terms’ employer paid for me to be her ‘plus one’, it should be obvious that they know how to take care of their people and their people’s people.

 

Our flight was good and the hotel was quite posh, so I was very much looking forward to the holiday party (the main reason for our visit). Some might say it was a bit of a gamble, but I knew their casino themed night wouldn’t let me down.

 

Per On My Terms’ terms, I packed a fascinator to don at the party. In fact, I packed two – one for me, one for her – also per her terms. Just prior to the party she opted against her fascinator so I took my next big gamble and risked being the only person at the party donning a fascinator.

 

We arrived to find a variety of holiday outfits – mostly hipster – but only one fascinator (seen by me when looking in the mirror). The drinking and gambling were in full swing and, not wanting to stand out (any more than we already did – On My Terms is like a celebrity in Kansas….and Missouri), we headed to the bar.

 

The bartended poured each of us a drink and, upon first sip, On My Terms knew she was going to be lit. “Any chance you can dilute this a bit? Maybe split it between two cups?” she asked the bartender. “Really? OK, but that’s how they long them poured at the Country Club.” The Country Club is a posh area in Missouri and the area of town where we were staying. “I like that,” I replied and then watched On My Terms double fist her drinks – one drink for Kansas, the other for Missouri!

 

As the night went on the gambling ceased and the drinking increased. As a majority of the employees and their plus ones played flip cup (a game that is always a bit of a gamble), I headed to the bar to pour my own drink (by this time the bartender had gone home for the evening). A man behind the bar offered to make my drink so I requested a vodka lemonade. He filled the glass with ice, then poured enough vodka to fill 2/3 of the cup, then splashed a bit of lemonade in and, finally, topped it off with vodka. “Wow!” I stated. “That’s how we make ’em in Kansas City!” he replied.

 

Roll the dice and pour the liquor – no wonder Dorothy couldn’t wait to get back home!

One of my favorite Scrubs’ episodes features the hospital superintendent discussing employee pay with the legal counsel. The superintendent decides against what staff wants and then asks the attorney what he thinks of the decision. “I think you’re an asshole,” was the attorney’s reply followed with something like this, “Oh no, my inside voice just came out and my outside voice stayed in.” Ever since that day I have wanted to study law.

 

On My Terms has ‘inside voice out’ fine tuned. She has a genuine ‘nonchalant’ ability to inside voice people and, somehow, they don’t seem to care. For example, while walking around Kansas City (Missouri) we were heeding the meteorologist’s warning, “It’s slick out there.” Thus, we wore boots, long pants, coats, gloves and scarves. As we bundled up to leave a restaurant, two girls stepped out of a cab wearing stilettos, mini skirts, nothing on their legs, and small jackets. “That’s appropriate for the weather,” On My Terms said to them, but not to them, using her inside voice. They carried on without incident.

 

While in the hotel room, we were watching a reality show and the man was being quite demeaning to his wife. At one point he said, “You know what, I can’t even talk to you right now.” On My Terms let her inside voice out, “Well you know what? I can’t stand to listen to you for one more minute.” She then continued to watch and listen for at least another minute when she thought aloud again, “I guess I could change the channel.”

 

Once on the airplane and waiting to depart, we overheard (everyone did) a mother talking to her son. “Henry you need to put your seatbelt on. Henry, your seatbelt, please. Henry….” “Henry, I don’t think the seatbelt is your problem,” On My Terms said with her inside voice out, tightened her seatbelt and fell asleep. I was hoping she might talk in her sleep. Sadly, she kept all of her voices in during her slumber. Shame really. Knowing her work, I would have been well entertained – from the inside out!

I work with someone who knows everything. No need to ask her, she’ll tell you. Prior to  me flying out of town with On My Terms, my coworker asked where I was going. “Kansas City,” I excitedly replied. “Which one? Missouri or Kansas?” “Not sure. I’m flying into MCI. Or is it KCI? I don’t know and I really don’t care, I’m just excited to be going there,” I told her. “Well they’re distinctly different,” she informed me as I rushed out the door so I could get home and pack for Kansas City, somewhere.

 

Once On My Terms and I arrived at MCI we headed to the baggage claim. As we did, I noticed several bins with three letters on them: K, C and I. “Are we at MCI or KCI?” I asked On My Terms. “The cans say KCI,” she replied. Question not answered.

 

We arrived at the hotel and, being that we didn’t rent a car, we thought it might be good to get the name of cab company or too. “A lot of the cabs have Missouri plates,” I observed. “Missouri is really close,” On My Terms replied.

 

Once we met up with her coworkers I decided to ask about the whole Kansas City, MCI, KCI thing, “It’s MCI but everybody calls it KCI.” I then shared with them my coworker’s story. “One thing is certain, we’re staying in Kansas,” On My Terms said. “Actually, your hotel is in Missouri,” they told us. “That explains the all of the cabs with Missouri plates,” I said.

 

As we walked back to the hotel that night On My Terms quipped, “There sure are a lot of cars in Kansas with Missouri plates.” “We’re not in Kansas anymore,” I replied.

On My Terms has a modern-day living situation. She resides in a one-bathroom, three-bedroom duplex with two older men. One of the men is in his nineties and is her maternal grandfather. The other man is 28 years younger than the first and is her father. Out of respect, and because it is true, she refers to them as ‘the seniors.’

 

The other day she walked by her grandpa and said hello. “Don’t call me grandpa, it makes me feel old,” he told her. “Well you are old and you are my grandpa,” she informed him. “I’d rather have you for my girlfriend. You are so beautiful. Why don’t you have a boyfriend? I can’t believe boys aren’t beating the door down to date you. Maybe you could be my girlfriend,” he replied. “No,” she firmly stated.

 

I have a feeling On My Terms may be beating my door down soon for a little break from ‘the seniors.’

 

 

 

Like many employees, On My Terms’ was invited to attend a holiday work party. Being that  her employer is based out of state, they offered to fly her to the party, provide lodging and, most importantly, bring a plus one. This is where I come in.

 

“So my work is having a holiday party and said I could bring a plus one or two. Would you like to join me? I’m thinking me, you and my dad,” was the invite extended to me by On My Terms. “It would be my honor,” was my reply.

 

A few days before our departure On My Terms informed me our plans would be changing a bit, “Dad won’t be joining us.” This was a bit of a disappointment to me. I didn’t really have any plans in mind for the three of us, but I definitely did not plan to not have him join us. “That changes things a little,” I told On My Terms. “Not really,” On My Terms replied.

 

But it did. Without adult supervision On My Terms and I were bound to get into trouble. To make matters worse, we were headed to a town with one name,  that was located in two states – a recipe for disaster, plus one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The members of my book club are simple people. As a result, this month we decided to read Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People by Amy Sedaris. In addition to ‘reading’ the book ,we were tasked with making a craft for everyone in the club and attending in an ugly sweater.

 

As the weeks before the big night passed I got more and more excited to share my craft – wooden ornaments (hand painted and glittered up by me) with a picture of me (last week with my hair in side ponytails and my retainer in) deco podged on the front and back. After I thought of this idea, I thought of another that would be perfect for the party – ringerfood plates. For this concoction I needed several rings from the Ring Pops candies so I could pop a small plate or piece of cardboard with a doily on top. After eating my way through a few rings I almost gave up because I was sick to my stomach. It was about this time I realized there was no need to eat the candy, I could just use a hammer on them. This trick worked great and was easily completed by my five-year-old niece. Child labor laws are so overrated.

 

Once at book club I was gobsmacked by the talent of my poor friends. Live Longer had made lovely after sex tools on which she cross-stitched simple sayings such as ‘Shag Rag,’ ‘Come Again,’ Thank You’ and ‘Happy Ending.’ Beaner made snowmen out of cotton balls, cotton swabs and dryer sheets (the latter resulted in a near asthma attack that she promptly fought off with her inhaler). Bruiser took an old puzzle, painted the pieces and made moose ornaments. Ashterisk brought candy from Burma. “They are different colors in the end but they all start out the same in the beginning,” she informed us. “Just like people,” I replied, taking the book club to a cultural level. BioMom brought pipe cleaner and jingle balls for us to make key chains however some of us, BioMom included, got clever and instead turned them into bracelets, rings and bluetooth devices.

 

While we admired everyone’s work we snacked on the lovely snacks and desserts provided by Sleepless – the favorite visual snack being the candle salad which was constructed of bananas propped up by pineapple rings and topped with whipping cream and a cherry.

 

By the end of the night, we had successfully traded and crafted several ho-made gifts and we were all donning a bit of a socialite glow. This crafts may be for poor people, but we drink, eat and be merry like we’re upper crust. Speaking of crust, I think next time I may make loofahs out of burnt toast.