Category: blog

The other day Live Longer and I enjoyed a lovely meal and then paired our digestif  with a sauna treatment. “Be careful you don’t burn your lip on your glass,” she advised and informed me this is something that happened to Oper once while pairing.

 

As we relaxed in the sauna the temperature continued to rise and the sweat began to drip. “I don’t even have boobs and I’ve got sweat under them,” Live Longer said and then asked, “How hot do you think is too hot?” “Well, the thermostat goes up to 350 degrees and it’s kind of like a speedometer – no point in showing limits if we’re not willing to take them,” I replied. Live Longer wasn’t as eager to take that risk and suggested we depart at or around 200 degrees. “What are the health benefits of a sauna?” she asked me as I licked the rim of my glass in an attempt to cool it down. “Maybe sweating out toxins. For gay men or ‘straight’ men the benefits are usually sexual. At least, that’s what I’ve seen in the movies,” I informed her. “Maybe it is good for scars. Your scar looks really red right now,” she advised.

 

I am still unsure of the health benefits, but one thing was certain, I needed to shower. With all of those toxins sweated out of my body I figured a little exfoliation would do my body good. I began the exfoliation process, hoisted my left foot on the lip of the tub so I could get my heel, and then all hell/heel broke lose.  My foot slipped off the lip of the tub, my big toe bent in an unnatural way, my body lurched forward causing my forehead to hit the tile on the wall, and then I rinsed off the exfoliating scrub.

 

Business as usual at my house. My toe immediately started to swell and was pretty sensitive. Although it didn’t feel too good I had a pretty good feeling about what I might have done to myself. I may not know if a sauna is good for scars but I know I am – scars appear to be my specialty. In fact, if my bones good talk they would most likely speak ‘broken’ English.

I recently went to court to observe testimony at a high profile murder trial.

 

As I selected a pew in which to sit I found reserved seating for CNN – a piece of yellow tape with ‘CNN’ poorly written on it and stuck on one of the pews. I opted to sit directly next to it.

 

The trial began and I quickly learned there are a lot of criminal justice non-professionals who flood trials such as these to blog, tweet and share their wisdom/perspective. My two favorite were the elderly women seated in front of me. They had been ‘whispering’ loudly throughout the duration of the trial and it quickly became clear that they lived for this stuff. As they continued to chat, my interest in what was actually happening shifted to what they thought was happening in the court room.

 

One of the women did most of the talking and she had something to say about nearly everything.

 

As she observed the jurors she leaned toward her friend and said, “With as much as he is losing his hair I would shave it – that’s very in now.”  The other woman nodded and she continued with her observations, “Based on this jury,  you and I would never get picked.”

 

Her focus eventually returned to the actual testimonies. As one of the witnesses testified she was asked where she worked,  “I don’t work. I retired after 32 years.”  The older woman leaned over to her friend and said, “Did you hear that? She was fired. They didn’t even ask a follow-up question.” A hearing impairment and misinformed – I only wanted to see/hear the trial through her eyes/ears.

 

The witness continued to testify, this time focusing on the defendant’s demeanor one day after his wife’s funeral, “He seemed happy.” “Seemed happy?” the elderly woman in front of me said and then added, “Object. Inconclusive.”

 

Sadly, right soon after this comment her friend announced she was tired and decided to step outside and take a nap in the lobby. Thus, Monday Morning ‘Court’erbacking ceased….until after nap time.

Our book club has quickly evolved; primarily because most of the members are not reading the books. In fact, at this month’s book club (which was really movie club) one of the new members asked a cute question, “So you guys don’t actually read?” “No,” and “Some do,” were the answers provided. To be honest, this is totally fine with me. I’ve never really understood why so many good movies are turned into books.

 

At the end of our Bridesmaids movie book club we discussed our plans for our next gathering and the ideas were flowing. “Maybe we could read a cook book.” “At least one recipe.” “Or a craft book.” “Magazine club could be fun.” “Let’s all plan on reading and discussing next month’s People magazine.” “How about if we just read three articles and not the entire magazine?” “Maybe we should just focus on reading anything 250 words or less.”

 

Ultimately, we decided to do craft book club. More specifically, Amy Sedaris’ Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People, which supports one of our favorite Bridesmaids’ quotes, “Help me, I’m poor.” Suggested attire: crafty sweater.

 

Once I got home I did a search for ‘crafty’ and I must admit, I am intrigued and very much looking forward to these sweaters because, according to www.thefreedictionary.com, ‘crafty’ is ‘marked by underhandedness, deviousness or deception.’ I wouldn’t mind a hand under my sweater.

 

With just 20 minutes until book club I received a request for a television interview. The theme for this book club was ‘Bridesmaids’ so my hair was pulled up like Palin’s, I had a large feather ‘fascinator’ on my head, my make-up looked like lipstick on a pig, my best fake pearls were around my neck and my strapless turquoise blue dress was hugging my body.

 

A quick change was needed but with my hair sprayed and make-up painted they would need to stay in place. To maintain a ‘professional’ and librarian/school teacher look, I kept the pearls on and added  a hot pink cardigan. Blue may say power, but red lips and and a hot pink cardigan scream – not sure what, but they scream.

 

The reporter arrived, I participated in my interview, and she said, “People probably won’t recognize you because you never wear make-up.” She may be on to something because I also never wear pearls or do my hair.

 

Later, back in full costume and watching Bridesmaids, Sleepless observed that Kristen Wiig’s character got up and put on/refreshed her in the morning, before her beau woke, and then got back into bed. “Have any of you ever done that?” Sleepless asked. All said no, including me who added, “Only if I don’t want them to recognize me.”

 

The other day, while dining with Beaner, a Carpenters song began playing overhead. “You know the thing about The Carpenters is they sound great, but all of their songs are incredibly sad,” she observed. We then started changing the words of upbeat songs to reflect lyrics representative of The Carpenters.

 

Later on, I decided to do a little research on the Carpenters. Although Karen seemed to get most of the attention publicly, Richard got most of the attention at home and, surprisingly, wrote many of the sad, sad lyrics. Apparently Richard was the favorite child, while Karen was constantly seeking validation from her mother, Agnes. In addition, Richard dated and married (one year after Karen’s death) their first cousin. This situation was not pleasing to Karen but Richard suggested she drop it because the cousin was adopted and they had taken blood tests, so all was good.

 

I shared the information about the cousin with Beaner. She was convinced ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’ was inspired by the kissing cousins. She might be right, but I’m thinking their rather hush hush relationship may have actually inspired ‘A Kind of Hush.’ So sweet, yet, typical Carpenters style, so sad.

 

I made the observation that their mother’s name is the same as my in-house ghost, Agnes. Beaner suggested I study my genealogy because I may “have a special tie to The Carpenters.” Regardless of what I may learn, I have no intentions to marry any of my cousins. In fact, just the thought of it inspires me to sing ‘Goodbye to Love.’

Rated R and I decided to spend the afternoon tending to our needs which turned out to be food, drink, shopping and more drink.

 

While dining we noticed several patrons were staring our way and both of us wondered why this was happening. We’re used to awkward stares – we get them all of the time when up to our normal shenanigans – but these stares made no sense because we were just calmly sitting and eating. As we left I noticed a TV above our table on which football was displayed. This could have actually been what drove the attention of other patrons our way, but my vanity tells me that isn’t so.

 

While on our shopping excursion I picked up the scent of what I thought was a cigar. Sure enough, I found a woman smoking  in the parking lot. “Is that a Pimp Stick cigar you’re smoking?” I asked. “No, it’s a clove cigarette,” she replied. “Lovely,” was my response. “Would you like one?” she kindly offered. “Yes, please,” I said and she kindly handed me two. One, make that two, for me and none for Rated R, who is currently Rated PG (yep, she’s pregnant again).

 

Our last stop was the coffee shop where we got some fuel for our bodies. Rated R then headed to a baby shower – it is what PG women do – and I planned to get ready for my next adventure: witch party. This is what women do once a year in costume and, for some, the rest of the year out of costume.

 

I knew my make-up was going to be elaborate so I decided to don my dress first. I quickly realized all of my time tending to my needs had caught up with me causing the buttons on my dress to refuse to do their part. In an attempt to keep the attention from my ‘busted’ dress, I decided to apply make-up that would make my eyes pop (just like my buttons). Just prior to donning my wig and hat there was a knock at my door. In view of the door I had no time to cover up so I answered the door as though nothing was out of the ordinary or out of my dress.

My next door neighbor, clearly shocked to see me, asked if I was going to a Halloween party. I replied, “I do this all of the time on the second Saturday of the month. It’s the Second Saturday, right?” “No, the third,” he said, staring at me just like the patrons at the restaurant did. “My bad,” I said, knowing his stare was just where it appeared to be because there was no TV displaying football behind or around me.

 

Having been ‘busted,’ I decided there was no need to continue to wait for my ride inside my house, thus, I grabbed my wig, hat, cape, clove cigarettes and took a seat on the porch where my fellow witch, Nora the cat, awaited me. As I lit my cigarette I nearly also lit my synthetic hair. An act that would surely cause furious dancing and would definitely allow me to see the stars through a freshly burned roof. This witch act was coming all to easily for me. What was next? Heading to the coast, undressing and rolling around in the sand? Been there, done that. Beware those who stare….it is the second, I mean third, Saturday and this pampered bitch, I mean witch, is (almost) on fire!

 

 

Several years ago a man dressed up as a clown and left a loaf of banana bread on his ex-girlfriend’s door. In the criminal justice world this act put him in direct violation of a protective order.  In my world, this made for a great headline. In Sleepless’ world, this provided an opportunity to regift banana bread.

 

I would regularly come home from work to find a loaf of banana bread hanging on my front door. One week, however, there was no bread. I didn’t think much of it until Sleepless asked about it. We quickly came to the conclusion that my banana bread was, in fact, missing. In hopes of locating the loaf, I constructed a poster to hang around the hood.

 

MISSING:

Banana Bread

Last seen on my porch

on Friday, August 26

Also Missing: Nuts (optional)

If found, please enjoy

(with milk or soy if dairy is an issue for you)

 

Sadly, we didn’t find the bread or get any leads, not even a crumb. I did, however, discover my loaf was not the only missing carb in the hood. A sign posted at a nearby park gave every indication that we were facing an epidemic. The sign, which appeared to be handmade by a child or ransom note professional, read:

 

LosT Muffin

“Larry”

Description:

blueberry Chunks

Yummy!

Find Him!!

 

My guess is someone, somewhere, knows exactly where my loaf and Larry may be and, even without a reward offered, they’re reaping a sweet reward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Years ago I read a ‘character reference’ that started a little something like this, “I have known my brother for 25 years and we have never had sex.” That seems like a detail that should go without saying.

 

The other day at work I was chatting with a coworker who informed me she was the only girl in her family. She then said, in a very blasé way, “I have five brothers and none of them raped me.” “That’s good,” I replied. She then shared a back story as to why she presented the fact in that manner. “A friend told me a lot of her female friends with brothers had been molested by at least one of them as a child. I told her I hadn’t been molested.” “Thanks for sharing,” was my response.

 

A few days later, it was Boss’s day and I had a card for everyone to sign. Some people just signed their name and others included a personal message. My coworker with five brothers entered the office, grabbed a pen to sign the card, and said, “I never know what to write.” “How about you write, ‘I have five brothers and none of them raped me. Happy Boss’s Day!'” was my suggestion.

 

 

While sitting at home one evening, listening to my floorboards and bones creak, I decided to do a little research about the latter.

 

The rough city streets of Chicago have really taken a toll on me. So much so that, when I move my left arm, my bones do a little jig called crepitus – a grating, cracking sound.

 

As it turns out, crepitus isn’t just for bones; it is also for Greeks.  According to Wikipedia, Crepitus is the Roman god of flatulence. Knowing That’s Not Chinese would be pleased to hear this news, I sent her a link to the info. She replied, “Crepitus is NOT Chinese.” “Sure smells Chinese,” was my reply.

 

She didn’t respond. Typical. Last time I saw her she asked, “Am I going to be in the blog?” I replied, “”Have you said anything blogworthy?” “That question is blogworthy,” was her only response.

 

Not sure that it was actually blogworthy but, as usual, That’s Not Chinese crept into the blog like a stinky fart creeps into an aerobics class.