Category: blog

I’m all about extras. I have extra beds, couches, lamps, costumes, toothbrushes, chairs, etc. One never knows when they might need more.

 
I also like life’s extras – manicures, pedicures, vacations, and bikes with two wheels, to name a few.

 

Fortunately, YumYummy is also a fan of extras and, while visiting her, she suggested we get pedicures. As we were approaching the salon, she reached into the her back pocket, said, “I doubt this is money,” pulled an item and out and said, “Oh!”  In her hand was a grey thong. “Did you just pull underwear out of your pocket?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied giggling and quickly putting it back in her pocket. “Why was it in there?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she said, doubling over with laughter, “I think I may pee my pants.” “No problem if you do. You’ve got an extra pair in your back pocket,” I advised.

 

Later, as we shared this story with YumYummy’s friend she asked, “Were they mine?” Strange question. Now I’ve got extra questions.

After successfully crossing the border YumYummy and I had drinks in Niagara and then headed to Waterdown for drinks with Sweller. Let the eating and drinking games begin!

 

We met at The American House where Sweller graciously provided a welcome, “Welcome to The American House, the oldest hotel in North America.” He paused a moment and then added, “Canada. North America, Canada. Welcome.”

 

From there we went to YumYummy’s, caught up on current events and Sweller provided a few isms – some his own, others, well, others.

 

“The empty can rattles the loudest.”

 

“What’s that one quote? You know the one, from Ferris Bueller.”

 

“Discriminating is like swimming upriver.”

 

“Just because other people have a problem doesn’t mean I have to make it mine.”

 

The isms continued throughout my stay. As we were sitting at a stoplight he said to another driver, “Get off your apple, bitch.” “Was she on her phone?” I asked. “No, she was eating an apple,” he replied. A few blocks later, “Look at that asshole with the balloons. Oh, wait, I know him. He’s having a garage sale. We should stop by.” As we looked for parking one evening YumYummy made a suggestion, “We can park at Ontario Place parking lot.” “Why? It will be like a parking lot,” he replied. “It is a parking lot,” YumYummy countered. It was at this time that Sweller told us he used to say he had “heartworm” instead of heartburn. “I also used to go to a store that gave out free samples and ask, ‘May I please have an example?’ The guy would reply, ‘Example? You need a role model!'”

 

A role model might have been helpful, especially when purchasing candy. Sweller loves jujubes and as we entered a bulk candy store he told us he planned to buy some. He filled up a sack and then informed YumYummy and I that the sign had a typo, “They spelled it wrong.” “What?” we asked. “It should be j-e-w jubes,” he advised. “No, no. That’s not right,” I replied. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Really? I thought the Jews invented them,” was his reply.

 

To quote Ferris Bueller, “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Or, in this case, misspell it.

 

I’ve walked a lot of places in my time, most of them without incident. I’ve walked across the street, to the store, to school, to the library, home from a west side underground bar without a jacket in high heeled boots in the middle of the night, to the loo, and in the airport even when I could have used the people mover. All without incident. Actually, the west side walk did result in a minor incident, but that didn’t occur until I had reached my destination.

 

My ‘trip’ to and in Chicago, however, changed things. Now, when I’m walking places, I do so with more attention and less ‘Italian.’ Those who know me well, understand the latter. Being that YumYummy was with me in Chicago when I fell (and quite possibly pushed me – I’m still waiting on the footage, no pun intended), she invited me to Canada for a redemption trip. Scratch that, as per Beaner’s advice, a redemption vacation. Tripping is so last year. It will be next year, anyway.

 

The day before I flew to the East Coast I received a text from YumYummy, “We may need to come up with a plan for the border crossing – wait times are 2-3 hours each way!” I suggested a bus or a train from Buffalo to Niagara Falls and she replied, “Maybe a cab to the border. If you go to the Rainbow Bridge crossing you can walk across the bridge (10 min) then just go to the Customs building.”

 

A fan of walking, and having never walked to Canada, I excitedly accepted this option. Leaving the United States was relatively easy, although my suitcase made the turnstile a bit of a challenge. The walk across the bridge was a breeze, literally. Winds were strong because a storm was lurking.  The time required to cross the bridge was extended due to my need to document my crossing of the International Boundary Line so I could hashtag it, #walkingtocanada, and share it with my followers – big shout out to the three of you!

 

Overall, I couldn’t have had a better walking experience. In fact, I’m very much looking forward to the time when I can tell the youngins about the time I walked to Canada.

While I was locked outside my house wondering, with the locksmith, how I was going to get inside, Oper was at her house remembering a famous children’s book about a girl with locks of gold and wondering, “Who the hell broke into my house?”

 

Just as I latched my door shut, Oper opened hers to find a man in her mud room, costuming. She immediately beckoned her beau who questioned the costumed intruder, “Who are you? What are you doing? How did you get in?” He then kindly asked the man in drag to change out of their costumes, get back in his own clothes, and leave the home.

 

I arrived ‘on scene’ approximately one hour later and had many questions. “Did you take a picture?” “Did you call the police?” “You kindly asked him to leave AND walked him to the front door?” “I’m taking notes. May I please get a description?”

 

Black skirt, knee length

Lingerie top

Satin half jacket

Black and white clown leggings

Red dinner gloves

Black wig

 

“He looked a lot like Miss Kitty Litter (drag queen),” said Oper’s boyfriend who then added, “Plus, he had a bike peg with a condom on it and appeared to have been on the computer.”

 

“A bike peg with a condom on it?” Where did he get the condom?” I asked. “He had a backpack full of them,” Oper replied. “You may want to check your computer for recent internet searches. Don’t be surprised if you find clown porn.” “Oh, I won’t,” said Oper who then looked at her beau and said, “He’s into that.” “I’m down with the clown porn. I once did some work with Hollie Stevens,” he informed me. “This will all be in my report,” I informed them.

 

We took a look at the crime scene, I asked to see the costume/evidence, and they informed me it was in the trash. “He was quite dirty,” Oper advised me. They then showed me how he broke in (doggy door) and said he asked about the unicycle as he was being escorted from the premises. “Is that your unicycle? Are you a unicyclist?” “Nosey,” I stated and added, “You should have sent him to my house – he probably could have gotten in quicker than the locksmith and I’ve got a great costume box.”

 

As I departed I told them something Sleepless and I have said time and time again, “Mustaches and wigs are good for parties, bad for felonies.”

 

Later that day Oper sent me a text, “After looking at the items our cross dressing intruder was collecting in the back room we believe he was collecting items to insert in his hiney…he is the butt burglar!” Probably a pretty accurate ASSumption.

 

 

Every now and again I wake up early, decide to get up out of bed, shower and arrive at work before nine. As I left the house early this morning I grabbed my bags, phones, pulled the door shut behind me, and realized I had just locked my keys in my house.

 

Knowing my house was locked up tighter  than Fort Knox, I immediately did an online search for a nearby locksmith. The locksmith arrived within 10-15 minutes and felt confident he would have the lock picked in just as little time. Thirty minutes later, his confidence was waning. “Jesus,” I heard him say under his breath, “It’s not wanting to pick.” I loaned him a credit card to try to open it that way – no avail. “Does anyone have a spare key?” he asked. “MiniMe, but she is in Alaska,” I replied. “Can she send you a picture of it?” he asked. “Possibly,” I said.

 

Fortunately, MiniMe was able to send a picture and, after failing to be able to look three locks, he was able to recreate my key and, in just under two hours from the time I locked myself out, I was back in the house. Fort Knox, I’m home.

Lately I’ve been experiencing strange sensations in my arm. Like most people with unknown medical ailments do, I did a little online research and make a diagnosis.

 

According to my most recent research, there is a chance I may have some form of palsy. The most likely scenario: Saturday Night Palsy. Sounds a lot like Saturday Night Fever and, as near  as I can tell, it is somewhat similar while being completely different. In Saturday Night Fever, Tony Manero dons his white suit and black shirt then extends one arm up and the other arm down, very suave. With Saturday Night Palsy one wakes up (usually after drinking a lot of alcohol) to find they’ve slept with their arm in a hanging position. This pinches a nerve and  results in Tony Manero’s move, sort of. The main difference being the effected arm is typically paralyzed a bit, the wrist is limp, and medical attention is required.

 

As I said, there is a chance I may have some form. I haven’t experienced this at all, but I do drink and I do sleep. I can definitely rule out handcuff palsy and honeymoon palsy – I don’t own handcuffs and I’m not honeymooning. I haven’t yet ruled out George Thorogood – I’m pretty sure I’m bad to the bone.

After meeting our hostess in San Diego Live Longer told me, “I like her. She makes me feel sober.” We then decided she needed a blog name. “Oh, I’ve got a nickname already. It’s Lohan,” Lohan piped in. “Lohan? Why?” I asked. “I’ll tell you later,” she told us.

 

Later that evening I again asked her, “Why Lohan?” “Later,” she replied, told us her underwear was driving her crazy, and then slyly removed it while we sat at an outside patio. “Is that why?” I asked. “Later,” she replied.

 

Later the next day she finally told us, “A bunch of friends had been partying pretty hard for some time and we decided maybe we should go to rehab. We didn’t, so they started calling me Lohan.” Sounds about right. To quote Lohan herself, “Later.”

A few days ago Live Longer and I decided to go to San Diego. Prior to booking our flights I sent a quick message to a friend I met at the Del Mar Races a few years ago and asked if she wanted house guests for the weekend. Luckily, she did, so we booked our flights, rented a car and made our way.

 

We arrived in time for brunch and sent a message to our gracious hostess to let her know. She replied letting us know she was at the restaurant and then sent a disclaimer text, “FYI I’m still drunk from last night and my house is a mess.” I replied, “Cannot wait. This sounds right up our alley.” Approximately twenty minutes later we were at the restaurant and discovered she was, in fact, still pickled from the night prior. We grabbed a few pickled veggies, stuck them in our Bloody Mary glasses and joined her at the table.

 

She immediately began telling us about her previous evening and then informed us of a near fatal stabbing, that occurred many years ago, involving another person who was with us at the races. Mid-story, a waiter approached the table, handed her something and said, “I think you dropped this.” She looked at it and set it on the table. He quickly took the bag of marijuana, folded his hand around it and said, “You probably want to put this in your purse.”

 

Twenty minutes in and our host was toasted, we had been made aware of a stabber in the area, and we witnessed a drug deal. Like the website reads, ‘Nothing beats summer in San Diego.’

I regularly tell people about the time I ‘took the tracks’ in Dirk. Every time I tell the story I close it with, “I’d love to do it again in a rental car.”

 

The last time I shared this story I was with a coworker who was definitely intrigued. “Show me the tracks,” he told me. We drove to the scene of the crime only to discover the city had finally attempted to fix the extreme grooves in the asphalt surrounding the tracks. “I’m sad you don’t get to see them as I experienced them. Luckily, you can still see where others have scratched their tranny.”

 

Although he was disappointed that repairs as been made, he didn’t let it show. “Let’s drive over the tracks for old times sake,” he said.  He slowly approached the first track and then put the pedal to the medal. The road may have been fixed, but as soon as we hit the last track we caught air and I couldn’t have been happier. “That was awesome!” I told him and added, “Sounded like you might have scratched your tranny.”

Tree and I have been talking about doing our show for some time. Unfortunately, we keep putting it off for Tomorrow – literally. Even without the pilot, our fan base is strong.

 

The last few days as I’ve arrived at work the security guard has asked me for my autograph. I smile kindly and continuing walking – I know better than to sign something without my attorney reviewing it first. Tree recently experienced something similar while at the bank. “You look like you could have your own TV show,” the teller told Tree. “Funny you should say that,” Tree replied and added, “I do have my own shoe and I have my own talk show too.”

 

It’s true, he has both. The first has been on hiatus for years and the second has been on hiatus since we first discussed hosting it. Clearly, it isn’t the show that matters as long as we have a strong fan base. Current count: two.