Category: blog

Every now and again I have the privilege of traveling for my job. The places I go are amazeballs.

 

I’ve been to UFO Landing Sites (according to the sign posted by the land owner), ghost towns and, most recently, I visited a town named after a popular 90s band – Manila Vanilla. That isn’t really the town name, but I don’t really think that was a UFO Landing Site.

 

Getting to this town required driving through a neighboring state and it was in this state that I realized I was a day late and two balls short for Testicle Festival. In the ‘Wild West,’ due South of Brokeback Mountain, the locals really like to have a ball…or two. I’m not talking about a good time – although they do like that – I’m talking about testicles and they like them in their mouth.

 

Apparently, testicles are a delicacy. I always knew testicles were delicate, which is why I’ve always handled them with care, but I had no idea people like to swallow them.

 

In these parts – private and wild – they love balls. In an attempt to sound sophisticated when referring to or partaking of the sack beneath the smokestack, they often refer to the testicles as Rocky Mountain Oysters or Cowboy Cavier. Call it what you will, but I’m a firm believer that you are what you eat and those who eat testicles are clearly nuts!

BioMom is a rule follower. She, MiniMe, Q and (most of the time) Sleepless could spend a lot of time together very comfortably, following the rules.

 

Together, they could yield at yellow lights, diligently and proudly prove their membership at the bulk food stores, pass through customs without incident, and breeze through security with all of their less than 3 oz goods in a clear plastic bag.

 

A while back, BioMom was more than ready to return to the states after a quick trip to Mexico. She had everything in order and ready for checking by the border authorities – passport, personal items and, if needs be, anal cavity. As she proudly waited to be checked she noticed Border Patrol did not seem to notice her. Frustrated by this lack of acknowledgment, she attempted to be noticed by making eye contact with a female officer. “I was ready to be checked and checked and searched. And then she said, ‘Move along, you’re holding up my line.'”

 

And so it goes for rule followers – they get scolded even when they’re ready for checking.

While in Manhattan for my birthday a friend met up with us for drinks and karaoke. As we walked with him to the bar Live Longer followed through with our plan to get an answer to an important question. She took his left hand and, in her best ‘nail lady’ voice, pointed to his ring finger and asked, “You have girlfriend? You married?” “No,” he replied. “What these marks?” she asked pointing to three small scabs on his hand. “They’re just sores,” he replied. Test one – passed.

 

A few days later he joined us again. Unfortunately, Live Longer wasn’t feeling well so he and I hit the town for a few hours on our own. After enjoying an aperitif, he made a suggestion, “Let’s get a couples massage.” I thought this sounded good and we began the process of looking for a massage parlor that catered to couples. I sent Live Longer a text, updating her of our activities. “You’re going to get a happy ending!” she replied.

 

Sadly, we were unsuccessful in getting a couples massage and, as often happens, the time came for us to go our separate ways. So, on the corner of 30th and Park Avenue, we gazed into each other’s eyes, he raised his arm, made a fist and extended it for a fist bump. “A fist bump? Are you seriously going to fist bump me?  No way,” I told him.  He seriously did fistbump me and, surprisingly, I had a happy ending without a happy ending.

I love a good dining experience. Infuse the vodka with the food and I love it even more. Some might say I have a love affair with food. I would say my affair is more physical than anything and, when it comes to a love affair, they are probably confusing me with Live Longer.

 

As Live Longer and I dined at a cozy Russian restaurant in Manhattan decorated with jars of infused vodka and pickled goods, getting pickled on the vodka, Live Longer gazed out the open window at a basket of fresh vegetables.

 

“You just love those, don’t you?” I said to her. “I do,” she replied. I reverted to the fourth grade and said, “Why don’t you marry them?” “I would, but my heart is already spoken for. I’m in a relationship with cheese.” “Well you wouldn’t want to do anything that would make cheese Bleu. Maybe Swiss can perform the ceremony to enter you into holey matrimony.”

 

I Cantal if she and cheese are serious enough to marry and, eventually, have a Babybel.  Regardless, I wish them a very Gouda life.

While visiting one of Manhattan’s trendiest rooftop bars we met a few gentlemen from England. They were young blokes – 21 and 23, but respectful and posh. They had a reserved section that was only 20% used, so I asked if we could join them. They kindly obliged and were rather gracious hosts.

 

As the evening came to an end, we went our separate ways. By morning, Live Longer was friends with one of them on facebook, we’ll call him Charlie, and I realized they may have paid for a round of drinks I had originally offered to purchase. I sent the young lad a message and friend request and, within seconds, we were corresponding. His cousin was still sleeping, so Charlie asked if he could stop by our hotel. It was early in the morning, we were still wearing yesterday’s outfits, had just finished last night’s dinner and weren’t entirely up for entertaining. “I guess we could go grab coffee or brunch with him once he gets here,” I told Live Longer. “Tell him we’re naked so it isn’t a good time for us,” she said, laughing. I did and within minutes he was at our door and trying to get busy with me. Sarcasm is often lost in electronic messages.

 

As I fought Charlie off, Live Longer went into the bathroom and curled her hair. He tried several moves, many of which I haven’t seen or experienced since I was 21. He laid in our bed and asked me to talk to him in there. I respectfully declined. He offered to take off his pants for laundering when I spilled a little of my coffee on them. He returned to the couch and tried to kiss me, I declined again and again. Finally, after approximately 30 minutes of trying, he looked at his watch and said, “Oh my, I’ve just noticed the time, I must go. I need to get to the Jersey Shore.”

 

As soon as he left Live Longer exited the bathroom and started laughing. “He is half my age!” I told her. “Even at 42 you can have a little 21 in ya,” she quipped. “Sorry, Charlie,” I said and added, “You aren’t getting any of this good tasting tuna.”

We’ve all seen the movie scenes in which first time visitors to New York City walk out the doors of Grand Central Station, onto 42nd Street, take a deep breath, turn towards Park Avenue, suitcase in tow, and begin the adventure they’ve been dreaming about for years. In that moment, we feel like we are there, with them, taking a bite out of the Big Apple.

 

This is not what happened to Live Longer and I when we walked out the doors of Grand Central Station. We exited to 42nd Street and were headed toward Park Avenue when we passed two Hasidic Jews standing next to a table covered with pamphlets about the Torah. One of the men ran through the crowded sidewalk toward me and asked, “Are you are Jewish?” “No,” I replied. This interaction was very upsetting to Live Longer. “Why didn’t he ask me? Does he think there is no such thing as a Jewish Asian? I’ve got a little Jew in me,” she said. “I had a little Jew in me once too,” I replied and added, “I’m pretty sure it’s my nose that made him ask.”

 

Live Longer stewed about this a little while longer and, as we talked it out, we decided it might help to come up with a drink specific to her ethnicity – the JewAsian Persuasion. Being that we are not experts of all spirits, we weren’t sure which alcohol to mix in the drink but we were certain it needed a few basic ingredients – mint, ginger and a fruit roll-up. Why the fruit roll-up? It was the closest thing to foreskin we could think of.

 

Live Longer and I are heading to New York for the weekend and, as usual, both decided we should check bags so we can ‘bring fun stuff.’ For us, this is typically costumes, wigs and accessories. Recently added to our non-traditional hope chests are latex animal heads.

 

“‘I’m bringing horse mask in case we need to make some extra cash on time square. Naked cowboy franchise= $1000/day but I don’t want him to ride me,” Live Longer messaged me. “I’d let him ride me for $1000,” I replied and added, “Maybe I should get a shirt that reads “Free Rides.” We can cross out the ‘Free’ and write ‘$1000.'” “1000/ day. You may have to provide more than one ride… We r on Time Square not the upper east side with Chuck bass,” said Live Longer. She made a good point, so I replied, “Maybe I could stand on a corner wearing the horse head and ask passersby, “Wanna horse around?” We might need to hit the Upper East Side.” “More bang for your buck,” she quipped.

 

I shared this idea with The Responsible One and Drink Whisperer and their responses varied. “My friend just got a horse head. Apparently they had great reviews on Amazon so he felt he had to buy it,” said Drink Whisperer. “That could be dangerous,” advised The Responsible One, of course. “Don’t worry,” I replied. “I know an undercover cop when I see one, especially if they’re in uniform. If I think they’re undercover I’ll just say ‘neighhhhh!'”

 

 

I’m a lover not a fighter. I must admit, however, I do love to drink a little wine and debate first world problems with my friends. During these moments it is not uncommon for wine to get spilled or glasses to break – it’s all part of the experience.  Plus, I believe the spilled wine gives my wood floors a lovely medium-bodied oaky finish.

 

Over time, wine glasses have both progressed and regressed. Progress: stemless. Regress: redneck. Fortunately,  I’m not picky, so I’ll drink out of any glass, or paper cup for that matter.

 

Recently, a college student designed a small glass ring for the the girl on the go who likes to enjoy a ‘little’ wine and, perhaps, has a tendency to lose her glass every now and again. If I were to buy, I probably wouldn’t buy just one, I’d buy a handful. Then, if things get heated during our first world problems debates, I can pound the wine and, if necessary, pound someone with my newly acquired glass knuckles.

 

I’m a firm believer in good hospitality. Bad hospitality just doesn’t make sense. In fact, it’s an oxymoron.

 

If I’m having guests over, I launder the sheets, fluff the pillows on the couch, clean up my room (throw everything in the closet) and take the bladder out of the box and pour the wine into a nice carafe. I consider this my guests’ bests. I’ve also recently upgraded my cable package from none to some because I know some of my guests are fans of the black box in the corner.

 

Most of the time, I know when guests are arriving, but every now and again I’ll receive spontaneous visitors. Thus, I try to keep my home in order. Today, as I left for work, I did a quick once over in the event anyone stopped by immediately after work. Then, as I drove to work, I realized I had pulled a BioMom. I left my vibrator on the shelf in the bathroom. Guests bests? Take your best guess.

 

While greeting customers at the furniture store an older man entered the store and asked me for driving directions to a different store. I provided him directions, several times because he was having difficulty retaining the information, and he paid me a compliment, “You’re very beautiful. Are you married?” “No,” I replied. “Would you mind if I called you later?” he asked. “Oh, that’s very kind, but I’m seeing someone.” He then asked me for driving directions, again.

 

Am I seeing someone? Yes, I’m seeing lots of people. From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to bed I see people. Sometimes it is me I see, other times I see people in the car next to me, every now and again I see things I don’t want to see – usually my neighbors sitting shirtless on their porch. When I see the latter, I take a picture and send it to Sleepless and Rated R so they, too, can honestly say they’re seeing someone.