Category: blog

It’s been a while since I’ve changed my hair so I decided to consult with my resident stylist, Rated R, for suggestions. “Red,” was her reply. “Maybe not all over, maybe just added in.” After finding a few photos of styles she liked, Rated R decided she might color her hair the same.

Kitchen Beautician arrived, equipped with an array of colors, ready to tackle our request. “You’re going to be my guinea bunny,” she told Rated R. “I like bunnies,” Rated R replied. As her color processed, Kitchen Beautician applied mine. Excited to see the final results, I washed and dried my hair. The red really took to the pigmentation in my ends – so much so that it turned hot pink. As much as I liked it, I knew I couldn’t keep it. “That’s not media hair,” Live Longer told me. She was right. I was a hot (pink) mess, so I decided to cover the color with an all-over dark hue. Fortunately, this trick worked. In addition, Rated R’s color took. Surprisingly, however, although we used the exact same colors on both of our hair, my hair was lighter and more violet. Regardless, it looked fantastic!

After everyone left, I decided to research ‘guinea bunny’ online and, based on my findings, I think Rated R and I  should definitely go back to being plain old guinea pigs.

 
Can Rabbits and Guinea Pigs Mate?

When a rabbit reaches sexual maturity, it can sexually molest a guinea pig resulting in injury or even death. Do not under any circumstances house a rabbit with a guinea pig.

Source: www.ask.com

After walking to the liquor store with That’s Not Chinese we decided we deserved to enjoy one of the bottles in our shopping cart. So, we popped the cork, grabbed a bag of potato chips and assumed our position on the stoop. Wine reduction, take one.

Just before we finished the bottle and That’s Not Chinese departed I received a text message from Live Longer, “Big Bounty and I are cooking and drinking. Want to join us?” I, of course, did and asked what I could bring. “Nothing or red wine. But I probably have tons in the basement.” I grabbed a bottle of red wine and made my way. Wine reduction, take two.

I arrived to find Live Longer and Big Bounty donning aprons, doing Julia Child impersonations and drinking wine. They immediately handed me an apron and a glass of red wine and the cooking shenanigans continued. Big Bounty decided it was time for the wine reduction, spoke in her very best Julia voice, and then took a sip directly out of the bottle before pouring it in the pan. So Julia of her. Wine reduction, take three.

About two hours into my arrival Live Longer told me, “I probably should have told you we aren’t eating any of this until tomorrow,” and opened another bottle of wine. Wine reduction, take four.

Fortunately, Tree and Awkward decided to join us for a glass, reducing our actual wine consumption, but adding to the reduction efforts. Wine reduction, take five.

By the end of the night we were probably, cumulatively, five or six bottles in and, having not really eaten, completely out. Wine reduction, fade out and end scene.

Years ago I watched a training video about elder adults in a county housing unit. One of the women, after learning of several of her neighbors dying and many people not remembering them, decided the best way to be remembered was to wear a large flower in her hair. Occasionally, typically when walking the hood with That’s Not Chinese, I do the same.

Today, in need of more wine, I invited That’s Not Chinese to go with me to the wine store. When she arrived at my house, I suggested we walk. “I had a feeling you might suggest something like this,” she said while I strapped on my orthopedic boot and then grabbed my collapsible shopping cart with seat – a nifty gadget I acquired when donning my sling. “Wow,” was her only comment.

We walked a ways and came upon a rose bush that we had passed many months before and, just like before, we decided to pick a flower and put it our hair. We soon arrived at the liquor store, filled up the cart, and began to make our way home. That’s Not Chinese made a pit stop at the city library to use the loo and while she did I decided to give the seat on my shopping cart a try – it worked beautifully. It also generated a lot of stares. When That’s Not Chinese exited the library and people saw we both had flowers in our hair – more stares.  “We’re such city girls!” That’s Not Chinese excitedly exclaimed. Yes, we are and, like the elderly woman with the flower in her hair at the county housing unit, we’ll most likely not be forgotten by those who saw us today.

The other day when ‘dressed up’ for a work interview the camera man asked, “If you dress up like this throughout the year what do you do on Halloween?” “I take the day off,” I replied. A few days after the interview several coworkers approached me and said, “I didn’t even recognize you. Seriously, it didn’t look like you at all. It had to have been the pearls.” Pearls can be so deceiving.

As Halloween got closer I still couldn’t decide what to be, but I had a few ideas: 1) Truth Fairy – wear wings, carry a dry erase board and write sincere insults on it when others walk by or 2) Drug Bust – tape a bunch of pills on my boobs. The day before Halloween, completely undecided, I learned about a woman in North Dakota who planned to give candy to thin trick-or-treaters and letters about obesity to fat trick-or-treaters. Hearing about this sparked my next ‘two-fold’ costume idea: A big fat dick – my plan was to knock on this woman’s door and tell her I was actually a mirror. What a twat! Kids want candy. Adults want candy. We’ll also accept tricks, but tips? No thanks;  only if we’re providing a service and her plan is a complete disservice to everyone.

Instead of going to North Dakota I actually ended up going to work on Halloween, sans costume. Most people at my office don’t dress up. The few who do tend to don t-shirts with stupid sayings, pajama bottoms and sports jerseys. As one coworker in a baseball jersey and jeans walked by I said, “Great costume.” He didn’t reply so I made it my mission to make this comment to everyone – especially those who weren’t in costume. I took it up a notch by adding a laugh and shaking my head. This compliment was received by all, well-received by some. After I’d had enough, I decided the best costume I could don was that of a non-essential federal employee. Already in costume and being pretty much everything but federal, I furloughed myself for the day.

My tip for you for next year: Be non-essential.

I returned home today to find a notice about a rash of burglaries in the area. Being that I lock my doors regularly, and lock them so tight that locksmiths cannot even get in, I figured I didn’t need to worry much. Plus,  I have my trusty cat burglar who regular steals a spot on my porch and slyly enters my house when the door is ajar.

As I continued to read the notice, however, I became slightly concerned. These hoodrats appear to like Hondas. Dirk was in jeopardy. Being that my neighbor across the way also has a Honda I decided to go to her house to discuss the notice.

As I approached, I could see the lights were on in the front of the house. As I got closer I could see her laptop bag on the chair, so I assumed she was home. I knocked on the screen door and didn’t hear the dogs or get an immediate response so I opened the unlocked screen door, knocked on the front door, and then turned the unlocked handle as she turned the corner of the front room with her dogs. “Your dogs didn’t bark,” I told her. “They don’t,” she replied. I then asked if she had read the notice. Based on the front door being unlocked and her valuables being in direct view, it was safe to assume she had not.

We discussed the notice and determined that since neither of us have a garage the likelihood of our cars being stolen was high. “Look at it this way, you’ll get a new car,” she said. “That’s true, but I’ll lose out on all my frequent buyer punch cards, not to mention a few library CDs and a tutu,” I replied. “The tutu should make them easier to find,” she replied. She is right about that but I would feel horrible if they failed to return my library items on time. Hopefully, they’ll Dewey the right thing.

Global warming is real. If you don’t believe it, check out the iceberg in my brain. Based on Sleepless’ iceberg/penguin theory, penguins (memories) are dropping off my iceberg like flies and I can only assume it is because the iceberg is getting smaller, which I blame on global warming.

After going to the rock opera disco circus event the other night, Ice Cream Man decided to return home and Sleepless and I decided to go dancing. Due to my recent injury, my doctor advised against running and Zumba, but I didn’t recall her saying anything about dancing and, as far as I was concerned, my orthopedic boot was made for dancing. Alas, Sleepless and I danced for hours then grabbed our belongings and began our trek home. We arrived at her place to find Ice Cream Man watching TV, however, as soon as we walked in the door he decided to go to bed.

While he tried to sleep we, according to what he shared with us the next day, were focused on quesadillas. Sleepless made them; I ate them. “Do you want another quesadilla?” she would ask. “Yes,” I would reply. “If she would have continued to make them you would have continued to eat them,” he told us then asked, “And what the hell were you watching? I woke up to find the TV on the Spanish channel.” “Until now I didn’t even remember eating the quesadillas, so I definitely don’t remember what was on TV,” I replied. “That was me. There were some good shows on last night,” Sleepless admitted.

Sometimes its nice to rely on another person’s iceberg and, if you have time and the right cable package, fill up your own iceberg with bilingual penguins.

While enjoying a sodium-rich meal with Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and his mom, Ice Cream Man mentioned recent feedback from his doctor, “He wants me to lose 10 pounds.” “That’s all?” his mom asked while Sleepless and I pretended to be really into our sushi.

Later, when the bill came, Ice Cream Man pulled out his credit card and I handed him some cash. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it,” he said. “You really don’t need to,” I said. “I know I don’t need to and I could definitely use the money for therapy to deal with the ‘that’s all’ comment, but I’ve got it,” Ice Cream Man said.

Folks….they can be so ‘folksy,’ that’s all.

One year ago last night Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I went to a Halloween party that promised to feature cabaret, voodoo carnivale, creature encounters, and observation-only experiences. We definitely observed a lot and, as the the night came to an end, we sadly discovered that one major promise had been broken – our friends had all departed without us and we were stuck on the West side in the middle of industry with no ride home.

This year, to avoid being stranded, we opted to attend a rock opera dance circus “for curious adults” downtown – within walking distance of their house. Being that we live in a state where being an ‘adult’ does not legally mean one is independent or responsible, the selling of alcoholic beverages is not allowed in public venues where nudity will be seen. As a result, we had a drink or two pre-show and Ice Cream Man filled a breastmilk bag full of whiskey for us to enjoy, as ‘adults,’ during the show.

Within minutes of arriving and chatting with other patrons we realized that many of them had opted for illegal substances – something we think we may have experienced (not by choice) last year . While they experienced cotton mouth we stuck to our breastmilk bag and the show began. “Why is it that every year we end up at something like this?” Ice Cream Man asked. “Halloween,” I replied.

The show definitely gave us what was promised. As the nudity (boobs) presented I leaned over to Ice Cream Man and whispered, “Tuesday.” Being that he is in the middle of a medical experiment of sorts and cannot partake in sexual activity until, you guessed it, Tuesday, he knew exactly what I meant. For him, and for those who make and enforce our state liquor laws, nudity is a no! no!

Being that I regularly lack balance and often suffer the consequences, I didn’t worry too much about my shower incident. Sure, my toe was sensitive, but most would say it is nice to see I have a ‘sensitive side;’ so I let it be. As the day progressed however, my toe wanted attention. I had tucked it into a sock, which I then put into a boot, thus, hiding it from my sight. Much like sweeping it under the rug, a trick I learned from my family. Just like the scum rises to the surface of the pond, my toe begin to rise within my  boot.

I finally relented and went to a clinic. Based on the bruising, they had some concerns which were confirmed by an x-ray. “Come and take a look at this with me,” the doctor told me and then showed me my x-ray results on a computer. “Our bones start to look a little funny once we’re over 30, so don’t mind those things,” she said while pointing at several areas of the screen. I really have no idea what that meant, but it has become quite apparent that my trying to stay young while my body tries to age is a dangerous combo. “It looks fine from this angle, and that angle, but this angle, well, that’s concerning. It looks a bit like a hairline fracture. I think we’re going to need to boot you for the next three weeks.”

The medical assistant fitted me with a boot, all the while apologizing, “Sorry, I know it’s ugly.” “No need to apologize,” I replied and added, “It’s the ‘Fall’ fashion trend. I’ll take it to the runways!” I actually will take it to the runways  – JFK, SEA. Can you say ‘pre-board’? As I left the clinic the receptionist asked how my appointment went. I pointed to my boot and she suggested I “jazz it up a bit with some gems.” “Good idea!” I replied and then remembered my BeDazzler broke last month when I was ‘jazzing up’ a fanny pack for the demolition derby. Broke, broke, broke. With this theme going I have no plans to check my bank account. I’ll just sweep last month’s statement under the rug….