Category: blog

I’m not a vain person, but I do prefer to walk around town without drifters hanging out of my nose or having parsley and cottage cheese (or any other noticeable food items) in my teeth.

I also prefer that my zipper stay up (which is why I sewed many of my zippers closed the other day), my hair not be cowlicked, and that my clothing not be stained. The latter two are difficult for me because even with a good ‘blow-out’ my cowlick tends to return and stains, well, a day doesn’t go by that I don’t spill or splooge something on me.

In high school I had a friend with whom I would conduct drifters checks. She would check my nostrils for low-hanging fruit and, conversely, I would check hers.

This evening, I powdered my nose, applied my lipstick, took a quick look in my non-lit car visor mirror and headed into a business dinner with various coworkers and community partners. I had been there for about twenty minutes, spoken with at least 10-15 individuals, when a coworker of many years suggested I wipe my nose. “Do I have a drifter?” I asked as I quickly brushed the end of my nose. “You did,” he said. “Why didn’t anyone else tell me?” I asked, rhetorically. “The don’t have the same relationship we do,” he said.

That’s probably true, but shouldn’t we all have that relationship? Where is my high school friend when I need her most? Truly, who wants to go home, after spending hours at a dinner party, only to realize they’ve got a drifter and only to wonder, ‘Was that with me all night?’ The only person I know who would be alright with this is my cousin. He used to purposely shoot a drifter out of his nose while talking with people and then, nonchalantly, breathe it back in – all to get a rise out of people. Besides him, the only people who might be ok with drifters are, well, drifters.

Contrary to popular belief, I do have a family. In fact, I actual saw a few of them the other day…..when looking through an old photo album.

Just kidding, I went to dinner with a few of them to celebrate Contestant #56’s birthday and, while there, Beaner began to give food assignments for Thanksgiving Dinner. She knew I did not intend to dine with them on this day but opted to give me an assignment, nonetheless, “Your assignment is apathy.” “Whatever,” I replied. Although I didn’t really care about Thanksgiving or the assignment, it is also nice to be assigned something you have in abundance.

I was sharing this and other family stories with Ashterisk when she interrupted me and said, “Wait, you have a brother?” “Yes, in fact, I have two; three, actually,” I replied and continued on with my stories. “Wait, you have a sister?” Ashterisk interrupted again, cracking herself up. “Yes, three,” I replied.

Based on Ashterisk’s behavior, I have a feeling she will also be taking apathy to Thanksgiving this year.

While Live Longer sat comfortably in first class, I maneuvered my orthopedic boot as best as possible in coach and tried to enjoy the five hour flight.

Luckily, I had packed a library book for reading. Yes, an actual library book. Most people in coach cannot afford electronic reading devices, let alone buy their own books.

While I read, I took advantage of the complimentary non-alcoholic beverages and peanuts. Sadly, this didn’t curb my hunger pains. Reading, however, temporarily kept my mind off my near starvation situation. I finished my book just prior to landing and was relieved to learn I would soon be at home and able to eat something of sustenance.

I walked off the plane to find Live Longer waiting patiently for me at the gate. “How was first class?” I asked. “It was good. I ate dinner and fell right to sleep,” she replied. “You got dinner?” I asked. “Yes and they served my wine in a glass,” she nonchalantly replied. I had to strain to hear her response over my stomach growling.

Oh how I long to be in first class where I can imbibe (from an actual glass) to my heart’s delight, eat an actual meal,  and sleep comfortably. In the meantime, I’ll just continue to be an uncomfortable, hungry asshole in coach. The day, however, will soon come when I, too, will be a classhole.

Being that I was on the tail end of my hairline fracture healing I had opted to ditch my orthopedic boot once in New York and don regular boots and kicks for the weekend. The kicks I had recently acquired were old school high tops with velcro straps so I felt like they, essentially, were the same design as the boot, thus, would provide good support.

At the end of the trip, my feet were ready for a rest, but my toe wasn’t giving me too much grief. Live Longer had been keeping an eye on our flight in hopes that we would both get upgraded to first class – something my hairline fracture would much appreciate. When we arrived at the airport we checked in and learned we were both on the list but neither were upgraded.

As we got closer to boarding we realized the plane was most likely full and boarding could end up being ridiculous. We checked to see if we had been upgraded; sadly, we had not. “Go put your pre-board boot on,” Live Longer advised me and we headed to an adjacent gate where I could change from my cute boot to my orthopedic boot. “Why do I feel like I’m committing a crime?” I asked. “You’re not, you’re still in the healing phase,” she replied.

A few minutes later we returned to the gate, just in time for the pre-board. As we checked in the gate agent told Live Longer, “You got upgraded to first class,” then checked me in and coldly said, “You did not.”

I pulled myself up by the velcro straps on my orthopedic boot and made my way to coach. No need to fret – I may not have been in first, but I was on first and sometimes that is all that matters.

While researching Iris Apfel I stumbled upon photos of another international fashion icon, Anna Piaggi.

Unless you are like Live Longer and, as Ginger Zee of ABC’s Good Morning America put it, “living under a rock,” you should be at least somewhat familiar with the ‘Drake hands’ video and, in my opinion, Piaggi.

Piaggi, like Iris Apfel, had a signature piece that she was always seen wearing – a hat. Not just any hat, rather, custom-made hats. The hats were regularly complimented with vintage clothes and her signature make-up. For me, the bright pink rouge circle on each cheek  is was made Piaggi most memorable.

If you have seen Piaggi, you know her and will never forget her: her name, maybe, but her face, never. She, like Apfel, Audrey Hepburn and her cigarette holder, and the elderly woman in the training video I watched many years ago, is memorable.

Seeing these women makes me wonder, “What makes me memorable to others?”  Currently, it is the fact that I am a crack-up, literally – one broken bone after the other. Not wanting to be known for my broken bones or pre-board/front of the line slings and boots, I am on a mission to make a memorable, and hopefully positive, fashion statement. What will it be? Only time and a keen, custom sense of fashion will tell.

Once again, Live Longer and I have decided to take New York city by storm.

In an attempt to keep things somewhat in line I opted to pack my retainer and wear my orthopedic boot (at least for the pre-board/plane ride).

We pre-boarded, without incident, and then got comfortable. While Live Longer blew up her inflatable full-body pillow, I put my retainers in and attempted to speak. “I am tho ekthited for New York Thity!” I told Live Longer. She took her mouth off of the inflating device long enough to pose a simple question, “What?” “New York Thity. I’m tho ekthited!” I told her.

Although we might have been heading to the town that made Sex and the City famous, with all of my assistive devices in place, I have a feeling I would not be having any theth in the thity.

ROFL works in a cube. A while back he asked for an extra pahttp://grigiogirl.com/wp-admin/post-new.phprtition so he would have a little more privacy. Now, he can’t see passersby and he can’t see them.

He is well aware of the fact that people are regularly passing by. The people, however, seem to forget that someone is on the other side of the partition and, as a result, he is privy to a lot of things he could go his whole life without hearing. He gets to hear a lot of ‘private’ conversations whether they be with someone on the phone or between two coworkers and he also gets to hear people gassing by. Yes, gassing by. One person in particular does it on a regular basis. “Does he really think you can’t hear or don’t know it is him?” I asked. “I have no idea, but he does it all of the time,” ROFL replied. “I seriously don’t get that,” I said and then shared a story about the tooter badooter with ROFL.

“I was sitting in my office the other day and he returned from a ‘meeting.’ He was wearing a burgundy sweater and there was a bunch of splooge on the bottom of it. Seriously. Total splooge. Right in the path of you know what. That shit does not rinse off with water. Way too much pH balance. You cannot get off got off,” I advised ROFL. “So true,” he said and, like clockwork, the passerby gassed by.

Recently Calling The Dog has noticed a strange man lurking around her house. One day, he left his card in his mailbox. She eventually decided to call it because he appeared to be a private investigator and had written a special note on the back of his card, “I have good news for you.”

His news was she has a long lost sister. Based on the information he shared with Calling The Dog, her dad must have had an affair with someone, and produced offspring,  nearly four decades ago.

Calling The Dog is waiting on the DNA, but decided to ask her dad if he remembered the woman and, subsequently, a daughter. He shrugged it off saying, “That was a long time ago. Do you want to go camping?”  “Do I want to go camping? That’s his response. Unbelievable. This should be on Jerry Springer,” Calling The Dog told me. “Do you?” I asked. “Do I what?” she said. “Do you want to go camping” “No, it’s too cold,” was her reply.

FatGirl recently bought a brand new car and is loving it. Being that it is a major upgrade from his previous car, it has a lot more bells and whistles, which he both loves and doesn’t understand.

After leaving my house the other night he noticed a lit icon on the dash – he figured out it was a tire pressure indicator, assumed the air was low and filled the tires. Unfortunately, the icon remained lit, so he returned to my house for assistance.

“How butch are you?” he asked Ice Cream Man. “I’m not sure,” Ice Cream Man responded, unclear as to what FatGirl might be after. “Do you know how to use this thingy?” FatGirl asked him holding up a tire pressure gauge. “Yes,” Ice Cream Man replied and went outside with FatGirl to assess the situation.

Ice Cream Man returned and FatGirl drove off – safely, something that clearly wasn’t happening when he arrived. “He loaded 60 PSI in each tire,” Ice Cream Man, shocked, told us. “Twice the recommended amount. He’s lucky nothing happened!”

He is lucky nothing happened and it was a good reminder to me, as I continued to snack on the chips, brownies, and candy in front of me, that perhaps I should pay closer attention to my pounds per square inch (PSI).