Category: blog

As promised, like a turkey, I dressed for Thanksgiving dinner and could not wait be stuffed. Unlike a turkey, I preferred the stuffing orifice to be my mouth, not my vent (that’s turkey for ‘anus’).

 

Donning the plush turkey hat with frills on the leg – purchased for me by Rated R, I decided to pair it with boots that I had ‘frilled’ with a faux fur top. If there had been a ball, I would have been the belle. I had toyed with gluing feathers to my shirt for a full-on turkey effect, but Rated R was afraid that may result in the dogs trying to hump and eat me. Even without the feathers, they still tried to hump me. In fact, I left the dinner with more splooge marks on my shirt than my coworker after he takes a three-hour lunch break.

 

As we prepared the meal the aroma was mouth watering. Cream Of Tartar made two birds – one in the smoker and the other in the oven. The smoked bird smelled divine and I couldn’t help but encourage D-Dog to give it a whiff. Pointing to it’s very blackened vent I told her, “Get in there and smell it. Nice, right? Now you know why dogs do it.” “Yep, makes sense,” she replied pulling her nose back from the vent. “Better than a spice cabinet,” I added.

 

While I continued to take in all of the aroma of the smoked bird, Cream Of Tartar, Bow Tie Killer and Chauffeur contemplated smoking cigars. Somehow, the idea of Rated R participating was mentioned. I pulled my nose away from the bird, temporarily, so I could stick it in their business, “You should do it! Keep that baby little!” She opted against the cigar, primarily because they didn’t have our favorite – the pimp stick. Oh, and also because she’s pregnant. Unlike a bird, those who’ve been ‘poked’ shouldn’t be smoked.

Tree and Awkward are all about hipster events. As such, they recently invited me to attend a  fundraiser to promote men’s health issues at a swanky corner retailer downtown. We arrived to find a hipsters dream come true – mustaches, vests, belts, beanies, booze, photo opps, jazz band, sexual tension, and a social cause.

 

Complimentary shave cream was offered at the door and Tree couldn’t get it in his pocket fast enough. “I didn’t grab one of those,” I told him. “You should, you’ve got legs,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about my legs. Do you think it will still be good in Muffuary?” I asked. “Gross,” he replied.

 

Like most fundraisers this event had a silent auction. As we perused around the clothing section, Awkward and I found a shirt for sale at the not-so-hipster price of $365. “Is this a silent auction item? I’d like to start the bid at $10, it’s for the prostate,” I told Awkward. He then found a  pair of jeans, a little more in the hipster price range ($150), “I’d like to bid on these. I’ll start the bid at $5,” he said. Sadly, they weren’t up for auction.

 

I eventually found the silent auction while Tree and Awkward, warmed by the free whiskey and wine, smoked outside. By the time they returned I had bid on and won six auction items. “I should have gone outside with you guys. My co-pays for dealing with second-hand smoke would probably cost me less. Too bad I already reported my Amex stolen,” I told them. “What did you buy?” Tree asked then said, “My God girl! Did you buy everything? Oh, look at this, this one has a notebook. Won’t do you any good though because you stopped taking notes and blogging a long time ago!” “That is so not true. I blogged the other day,” I replied. “No, you didn’t. I had to let you know you hadn’t. I really don’t care and, unlike That’s Not Chinese, I’ll still correct you, even if I’m not in it,” he informed me with a verbal finger wag.

 

So not true. He does care about being in the blog. In fact, his concerns about being in the blog are as strong as his doctors concerns about being in his rectum. While his doctor is checking his prostate for problems, he is checking for his name in the blog. So, in hopes that Tree will relax his sphincter muscle and his mind, I present to you: Finger Wag – a blog about Tree calling me out and the importance of men allowing a doctor to lube up their finger, stick it in their rectum, move it around a bit, and then advise them they will call in a few weeks. Sounds like a date I once had with a hipster – the social cause: Pubic Awareness.

My coworker and I decided to go to lunch. After much deliberation, we opted for an Indian restaurant with a buffet. We each grabbed a plate and started filling it up.

 

We sat down, started eating and she noticed a short kinky black hair on her plate. Not wanting to draw attention or make a complaint, she brushed it off the plate and we attempted to pretend it didn’t happen. A few minutes later,  another short kinky hair was spotted and moved off the plate.

 

Then, seconds later, she noticed a long ash brown hair on her bread plate.

 

“Bad hair day,” our other coworker stated, in a very matter of fact kind of way, just before putting a spoonful of hair-free Indian goodness in her mouth.

After learning about my American Express cards being stolen I decided it might be a good idea to check the balances on my other credit cards.

 

All was good until I checked my Discover card. “Holy shit! It looks like someone has been using this card too!” I exclaimed when I saw the activity within the last 30 days. Then, I reviewed each charge and realized that someone is me.

 

Please disperse, there is nothing to see here. Unless, of course, you’d like to see the goods I won at the fundraising auction, my new boots, pictures from my recent vacation, and whatever else I believed I could not live without but can’t remember.

 

The other night Beaner was relying on family to watch her wee one. When they called to confirm they were told, “Oh, no, we can’t. It’s not that we don’t want to spend time with her. Its just that we’re having dinner with the Knowltons.”

 

Beaner managed to find another babysitter and then went to her engagement. While there, it was overheard that the infamous Knowltons were in attendance. To confirm, Beaner asked, “Did you say you’re the Knowltons.” Although the people she asked weren’t the Knowltons, the individuals with them were, in fact, the Knowltons.

 

Turns out, Beaner’s family lied to her. As a result, from this point forward, we have decided that anytime someone asks us to do something we don’t want to do our response will be, “So sorry, I can’t. I’m having dinner with the Knowltons.”

I’ve been home from Seattle for one week and, based on my blog entries (or lack of), it is safe to say I am not sleepless in or out of Seattle. In fact, I’ve been quite tired as of late.

 

For the last week – even the night I spent in Seattle – I was either asleep or in bed/couch by 9 PM. Am I turning into Tree and Awkward? Ever since they began living together they are in bed by 9. Gone are the days of Tree and I catching up at midnight. Thank goodness, because I’m mid-nap at this time now.

 

Some might say this is good for my soul. Others, like scientists, may say otherwise. A recent study found inconsistent bed times are linked to weight gain among women. This study, combined with my sleeping patterns over the last several decades, may explain why I have so many different sizes of pants. Some are working overtime, some are stretched thin, others are now in the good will box.

 

All of this said, I’m happy. In fact, I’m much happier to continue to have ‘France in my pants,’ than I am to have a thief in my purse.

As soon as Live Longer and I reached downtown Seattle I shared with her some advice that a friend once shared with me, “Keep your purse close to you in Pike Place Market – there are a ton of pickpockets.”

She heeded my advice and we made our way across town – stopping only to eat, drink and shop. Thus, we stopped frequently. Along the way, however, we encountered a ton of homeless people.

“I never realized there were so many homeless in Seattle,” she said. “I honestly don’t remember there being this many ten years ago,” I replied. In addition to homeless people, we encountered a lot of people with road rage – and we were on the sidewalk. “People are so angry here,” Live Longer observed. “It does appear that way,” I replied. “I feel much safer in New York,” she told me. “Same,” I agreed.

 

Not wanting to let anything get us down, we continued with our eating, drinking and shopping. While dining at a waterfront restaurant we observed a couple outside, feeding the seagulls. They were soon in the restaurant, seated at the table behind us. They ordered a drink and then left before it was served. “Was it something we said?” I asked Live Longer. “Maybe,” she replied. This was a plausible possibility.

 

Two hours later I received a voice message from my credit card’s fraud department. Apparently someone had been shopping – to the tune of $5000 – with my card in a nearby Target. I immediately checked my purse for my wallet. It was there, but my American Express cards were missing. Discover card was still there. Dollar bills from the drag show, still there. The only things missing were my American Express cards. The couple who were seated behind us had reached into my purse (which was on the back of my chair), taken my wallet out, removed the cards, and put my wallet back in my purse. Sneaky bastards.

 

“It’s no wonder people are sleepless in Seattle,” I told Live Longer and added, “They’re constantly wondering who might try and steal from them, road rage them, ask them for money or torch their car (something else we saw during our short stay).  Shady, seedy and sleepless in Seattle is way more appropriate.”

 

Live Longer had never been to Seattle, and it had been years since I had been, so we decided to grace it with our presence.

 

Being that I was only going for one night – Live Longer was staying three nights – I packed lighter than I pack to drive to the grocery store. Being that I don’t have to pay baggage fees, I checked my bag so I could roam the airport worry free and not have to fight for overhead space.

 

We started like we usually do – in the Sky Club – and then made our way to the plane. As usual, Live Longer got upgraded. She offered her upgrade to me, however, I kindly declined and suggested we give it to a Veteran or someone less fortunate. “That way they can enjoy first and we can sit together,” I explained.  “No. If you don’t want it I’ll take it,” she told me, so I took it.

 

I had just settled into her/my seat when she returned from coach., “Looks like  you also got upgraded!” she said and took the seat next to me. “How lucky!” I replied. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t give this seat to someone else?” she asked.

 

I was glad. Primarily because I had left my book in the baggage that I checked, the TV was hard to see and, based on our seat locations, there were no magazines or safety books to read so it would have been a boring flight. With Live Longer by my side, we could drink for free, eat as many Twix as our hearts desired, take a ton of selfies, and be ‘those people’ in first. When flying, last really is not the best of all the game.

While at an event that FatGirl was hosting I began experiencing problems with my brassiere. The problem isn’t new to me entirely, it is something that has been happening since I broke my shoulder. Due to the lack of muscle/definition in my shoulder, my strap regularly falls down. As a result, I am regularly tightening the strap. This task is not so easily accomplished when I am dressed.

 

Since I was dressed at this event – which was quite opposite of some of the men at the event – I was having difficulty tightening my strap, thus, asked FatGirl for help. “I have no idea how to do this. I don’t know a thing about girls’ bras!” was his reply as he struggled with adjusting my strap. Tree and Awkward approached and tried to help, to no avail.  A few seconds later, one of their other friends joined us and, thankfully, was able to tighten the strap. “How many gays does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” I asked. “I’ve never screwed inside a lightbulb,” FatGirl replied. “Clearly it takes four to tighten a bra strap,” Tree replied and then asked, “So why weren’t Awkward and I in the blog the night we crashed your cooking party at Live Longer’s? I’m not like That’s Not Chinese, I don’t just read it when I’m in it, but that was good stuff. Why wasn’t it in there?” “I can go back and add it,” I suggested. “No, it’s too late now,” he said.

 

Clearly, it isn’t too late. Bra strap tightened – check. Tree in the blog – check.