Category: blog

While crafting, drinking and listening to 80s music with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man, Ice Cream Man posed a question, ‘If you could go back in time, how far back would you go?”

Sleepless quickly responded, “Two years ago.” “Isn’t that when you two met?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied. “Nice,” I responded. “Yeah, nice,” Ice Cream Man said. “No, I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I meant it was so good I would back and do it all over again. I wouldn’t change a thing,” Sleepless attempted to clarify. “Right,” said Ice Cream Man.

A few minutes while later they were discussing something else and Sleepless suggested Ice Cream Man send a thank you note. “I plan on it,” he informed her. “You should write it by hand. It’s better when it’s handwritten – even your handwriting,” she told him. “If you could go back in time, how far back would you go? Ten minutes?” I quipped.

With employment comes liability. In attempt to reduce this, employers require testing of their employers. In most cases, this is quite effective. In cases involving That’s Not Chinese, the liability usually skyrockets.

Required to take a CPR exam, she did so and did not pass. Luckily, the only requirement was that the test be taken. With this test and her newly acquired skills on her mind, That’s Not Chinese came home, poured a glass of wine, and sat down to relax when, all of a sudden, she was being put to the test.

Her kitten was moving her head around in a strange direction and, based on That’s Not Chinese’s superb training, appeared to be choking.
That’s Not Chinese did not hesitate to help and immediately began mouth to mouth and chest compressions. When this wasn’t appearing to resolve the situation immediately That’s Not Chinese stuck her hand in her cat’s mouth in an attempt to retrieve whatever item might be causing the choking. This resulted in blood everywhere as a result of That’s Not Chinese’s hand and forearm scratching against the cat’s teeth.

That’s Not Chinese finally stopped for a second – while Unfazed was totally fazed and crying nearby – and realized her kitten was not choking, rather, trying to wiggle out of her collar because it had crawled up over her jaw. Nothing life threatening, until That’s Not Chinese, as Tree put it, “fisted the cat’s mouth.”

At that point, the kitten probably could have used CPR, but That’s Not Chinese was clearly not the one to administer it.

That’s Not Chinese invited me, Tree and our significant others to her house for dinner. He brought Awkward and I packed a mirror in my purse. Once there and enjoying cocktails (at That’s Not Chinese’s house ‘cocktails’ means wine), Tree mentioned the blog.

“I am so excited to be in it,” That’s Not Chinese exclaimed and asked, “You’ll be putting my comment in there about the sweats, right?” “That is not blogworthy,” Tree advised. “It is too!” That’s Not Chinese adamantly defended her suggestion, which read, “Oh hell ya…Unfazed and I were talking about how fun this evening will be and how it will no doubt be blog worthy…..Oh and you and Tree know how I roll so I expect to see you both in sweats!”

“That was not blog worthy,” Tree informed her and asked, “Who even wears sweats these days? Where does one even buy them?” “Look, I’ve got some and it is blog worthy,” That’s Not Chinese replied. The sweats to which That’s Not Chinese was referring are her ‘swapris’ – sweats with the bottoms cut off (she can’t stand them tight around her ankle) so they look like capris. She proudly coined the name ‘swapris’ assuming they would be the next big thing to hit Fashion Week. Fashion Weak, maybe. “Why aren’t you wearing them?” I asked. “She told me I couldn’t,” That’s Not Chinese said gesturing to Unfazed. “It’s true. I sometimes have to tell her what she can and can’t wear,” Unfazed, clearly fazed by some of That’s Not Chinese recent fashion choices, informed us.

“She told me I have to wear make-up to brunch. Well, what really happened is we were heading to brunch and she said, ‘Aren’t you going to wear make-up?’ I checked with her sister to see if she was wearing make-up, and she was, so I did,” That’s Not Chinese told us. “I think you should wear make-up to brunch,” Tree interjected. “If I’m wearing make-up in the morning it is only because I didn’t wash my face the night before,” I told them.

And with that, we were on to the next subject: CPR – a topic that was definitely blog worthy.

Dickclaimer: This blog/entry is really not for kids, conservatives (although you guys know you’re typically the perviest bunch), or uptight, anal folks (unless by anal you mean….wait, that is an entirely other blog/’entry’).

While having coffee with D-Dog the other day we discussed the act of fellatio – and determined that it is, in fact, an ‘act’ because few people truly enjoy giving it.

“Head is for strangers,” I told her. “Strangers?” she asked. “Yes, you know, people you probably won’t see again or engage in a long-term relationship with because, if you do, they’ll expect it all of the time. I guess it could be something you give in the early stages of a relationship. Head, compliments, attention, patience – they are all early stage activities. In fact, I would venture to say head and patience go hand in hand. Or, more appropriately, hand in mouth,” I said. “Speaking of hand, I only give hand jobs to people I don’t know,” D-Dog informed me. “Good to know or, better yet, not know…you,” I quipped.

I shared this story with FatGirl who strongly disagreed. “No way! Head is great – giving or receiving!” he informed me. Guess that’s why they call it fellatio – it’s for the fellas, not the ladies.

The first snow storm of the year hit our town hard and cold. I don’t mind the snow when I have nowhere to go and, while it blankets the valley, I’m staying warm under layers of down blankets. Unfortunately, on this day, I had to go to work. Being a sugar self definitely has it pros and cons.

As I attempted to drive up the freeway ramp I realized Dirk, though ‘Fit,’ was not made for these conditions. With my RPMs soaring and my tires working overtime I eventually made it on the freeway where the speed was a cool 20 MPH. We were going nowhere, ‘fast.’

When I finally made it to work I phoned my dealer – car dealer, that is – and requested snow tires, stat. “We’ll get you mounted and balanced in two days,” he proudly informed me. I’ve never had anyone tell me that would both mount and balance me; especially not in two days time.

Sadly, like many mounting promises, this promise did not come true because they forgot to order the rubber – no snow tires in stock. Turns out, instead of getting mounted and balanced I’ll just be taking public transit where I’ve not doubt I’ll at least get groped.

Each year I am invited to a holiday party at a large mansion in the center of town. This year, FatGirl was my plus one. Prior to heading to the party we had a little maple whiskey and red wine at my house – baby, it’s cold outside and, more importantly, this party was dry.

We arrived to find someone who confused FatGirl for someone else, “I thought you were Joe. I was going to tell you that you lost weight.” This confusion totally made FatGirl’s/Skinny Joe’s night and may have been the only reason he was willing to stay with me as long as he did. After waiting in line for photos with the hosts we made our way upstairs to the dollar sandwiches, chocolate fountains and holiday punch (note to self: next year, pack a flask).

I hobnobbed with a few of the guests while FatGirl smiled, giggled often, and observed. Approximately 30 minutes after arriving, we decided to head back to my house for wine.

“Wow! That was so white! Besides the black lady, I think I was the only brown person there. I thought for sure guests were going to start handing me their plates to wash. They probably would have if they weren’t paper!” FatGirl exclaimed once we were out of the mansion and beyond security. “Seriously, so stuffy and so white!!” he said and giggled. “Now you know what it is like for me to be a white girl,” I replied. “I’m so sorry,” he said. With that, we drove to my house where a red/merlot Christmas was awaiting us.

Within minutes of arriving at my house, Beaner’s wee one requested to play Tiddledy Winks, “I love this game. I haven’t played it since I was a kid!” “Really? How old were you when you played it last?” I asked. “I was three. Now I’m five,” she replied.

Minutes later she was over Tiddledy Winks, Connect Four, Operation and Perfection. “Let’s exercise,” she said, put her exercise pants on over her tights and skirt, then grabbed her weights out of her backpack and began doing ‘jumping jack lifting.’

I haven’t wanted to exercise since I was a kid and ‘Go you chicken fat, go,’ was popular. I also have not been able to wear my exercise pants over my skirt and tights since I was a kid and my neighbor and I decided to wear fleece baggy sweatsuits over our outfits, cover our shoes with the bottom of the sweatpants, and run across the basketball court yelling, “Hey, Kool Aid!”

Ever since Live Longer and I went to Seattle I have been going to bed around nine o’ clock, as has she.

I assumed it was just a strange phenomenon until I was at a wine tasting with several friends; several of whom planned to leave at or around 8 PM so they could get home and, you guessed it, go to bed.

“I guess we are getting old,” Bruiser told me. “A lot of my friends are home and in bed by nine lately.” Just then, another guest told the host, “Well, its quarter after nine, I best get going.”

Not wanting to wear out our welcome, and being the second-to-last guests left, Bruiser and I decided to thank the hosts for their hospitality and head home.

Late night for both of us – we wouldn’t be getting to bed until ten.

D-Dog and I thought it might be nice to enjoy a good massage and, being that I had recently purchased some gift cards for the local massage college, we decided to start our Sunday there.

We arrived to find no line and only one person waiting on the couch. This immediately caused us to think we would soon be in good hands, literally. Sadly, looks were deceiving. “We’d like to get a massage,” I told the receptionist. “OK, that’s great. It will be about four to four and a half hours before we can see you,” she replied. “Perfect. We’ll wait on the couch,” D-Dog quipped. “Do you guys have any magazines for us to read? Water?” I followed suit.

Turns out we may have rubbed her wrong because she did not find us funny – at all. “Where is everyone else waiting?” D-Dog eventually asked. “They’re eating or shopping,” the receptionist replied. “Let’s go do that for four or more hours, but not come back here,” I suggested. “Sounds like a plan,” said D-Dog and, with a stiff upper lip and very stiff joints, we left. Turns out, we don’t wait.

Although Thanksgiving did not end up in sleepovers, it did result in several of us feeling quite sleepy. Thus, as mentioned previously, I opted to draft a report:

Every individual was good (this was true and surprising considering the fact that the holidays tend to cause domestic violence incidents to rise)!