Category: blog

This day has been far too taxing on me to blog. Just kidding, I just cannot remember much of this day – most likely a result of the previous three days.

 

A big shout out to Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and Oreggano!

Making up for lost time with Oreggano on her birthday, we spent all of Sunday with her – drinking, coloring our hair, and eating.

 

We started with mimosas and brunch at a restaurant within walking distance from my house. After that fine dining experience we returned to my house where our Kitchen Beautician awaited us. Attempting to pamper Oreggano in honor of her birth, I provided Kitchen Beautician the colors we needed for our hair. Unfortunately, I selected the wrong color for Oreggano. Nothing says ‘Happy Birthday’ like a friend coloring your hair, the wrong color.

 

Soon after that incident Sleepless announced she needed to eat. A block away, and across the street from our brunch restaurant, was a Japanese restaurant that Ice Cream Man loves. We called the restaurant, made a reservation, grabbed a bottle of wine and then walked over.

 

 

We took our places around the table, ordered some sushi, poured the wine and dug in. As Oreggano attempted to pass the soy sauce to Ice Cream Man she accidentally set it down to quick and it spilled all over him and the table. Our server, who had been ‘keeping an eye on us’ since we arrived, immediately brought us extra napkins to clean. Soon after that, Ice Cream mas was refilling Sleepless’ glass of wine when he missed the glass and poured it all over her napkin. Then, about 30 minutes before we left, Ice Cream Man bumped the bowl of tempura and the server quickly appeared with towels and napkins.

 

We eventually decided to retreat to my house, stepped out from the table and, as Oreggano attempted to walk away, one of her flip flops got stuck to the very sticky floor of the restaurant. She kept walking; her right flip flop stayed stuck. We did as we had been doing all day, started laughing hysterically. Despite the fact that our drinking and laughing had sparked a need for both Oreggano and Sleepless to pee, they opted to ‘hold it’ until we got back to my house.

 

We continued to laugh as we walked and Sleepless, holding her dress out a bit, asked for mercy, “Please, please, I have to pee.” A few minutes later, and only one house away from mine, the laughter ensued again and Sleepless pleaded with us, “Please stop or I’ll pee….again.” “Again?” I asked. It was then, when Sleepless quickly moved to the grass, that we saw the dribble of pee on the sidewalk. “Are you kidding me?” Ice Cream Man said. “I warned you when we left the restaurant,” Sleepless said in defense.

 

We hustled into my house and Sleepless scurried into the bathroom to ‘finish what she started’ and change into dry clothes. “I can’t believe I did that and how much I was still able to pee once we got home,” Sleepless said and then asked, “How do I clean pee out of cowboy boots?” Piss, in Boots. Classic.

A surprise to most, Oreggano was birthed, not hatched. Apparently, monotremes (Greek translation: ‘single’ (ass)’hole’) are the only remaining mammals that lay eggs as opposed to birthing their young. So, even though Oreggano is an asshole, she is not alone and wasn’t hatched, thus, not a monotreme.  Together, however, we are multitremes.

 

A few of the multitremes decided it might be nice to surprise Oreggano with a night out and assumed, naturally, it would be best to do so with her in attendance. With that in mind, we secretly planned the evening with Cream Of Tartar – securing baby/dog sitter, lodging (if required), and Groupons.

 

The day before Oreggano’s birthday I messaged Cream Of Tartar to get details. He thanked me for our kindness and then informed me he had made plans for her birthday – plans that didn’t include us. Apparently we secured everything but the birthday girl and, as a result, the surprise was on us. Like the multitremes we are, we didn’t take it personally and celebrated sans Oreggano.

 

Not surprisingly, we had fun regardless.

 

 

 

Balloon modeling is an art. Don’t believe me? Try making something out of a balloon. In fact, just try blowing up a lot of long, skinny balloons and then, once you’re winded, try twisting it into something like a sword, a dog or a hat.

 

My friend did just that. He was planning a date and looking through the community continuing education catalog when he saw a balloon making class. Intrigued, he immediately registered. When he and his date arrived, on the first and only night of class, the instructor greeted them, “Oh, good, I didn’t think anyone would come.” The sign of a good class – zero to low attendance.

 

Despite the difficulty involved, they made a couple of great shapes. “Are you still dating?” I asked. “No,” he sadly replied. “I’m sorry. What shape did you make?” I asked. “A sword,” he said. “Did you give her your sword?” I teasingly asked. “Unfortunately, I twisted it too much and it popped.” Sleepless and Ice Cream Man, who had joined us for this bender, found this quite amusing. “I’ve had that happen many times with my balloon,” Ice Cream Man said while making quotation marks with his fingers.

 

I’m no balloon twister/bender/artist expert, but my guess is he should have opted for something more simple, like a dachshund. Then, if all went well, he could move on to the sword or a flower.

 

Dating is a lot like balloon art. It takes practice, involves inflating, deflating, twisting, bending and, often, ends with a burst. Or, if you’re lucky, it ends with a monkey on a palm tree and a mask to wear.

 

According to Birds Amore, female chipmunks raise their chippies on their own, often fatten up for the winter, and they’re not social once they ‘grow up.’ With the exception of the growing up part, although many would argue that I haven’t grown up much, I believe chipmunks and I have a lot (at least three things, anyway) in common.

 

With chipmunks, as the winter approaches, they stock up on food, often storing it in their cheeks. I don’t store food in my cheeks, I barely store food in my house, but when looking in the mirror at my back the other day I realized I have a different type of storage: boob storage.

 

We’ve all heard about back boob and, even though it isn’t detailed on Wikipedia, it is pretty obvious what it is. When I spotted mine I immediately tried to make it disappear by standing up straighter. My attempt was fruitless. What was I thinking? I’m no magician, I’m a chipmunk and this is winter.

 

Well, it isn’t really winter anymore, but if it was, I’d be ready. Being that winter will be here again within the next six or eight months, I’m not a fan of working out, and I couldn’t find answers to my search “how do chipmunks lose their winter weight,” it appears I may be ‘winter ready’ year round.  Fortunately, this won’t get in the way of my being social. It may, however, impact what I wear.

I stopped by the mall on my way home from work and decided to get my eyebrows threaded. This was a bold move for me considering the last time I did so they also colored my eyebrows and I left the salon looking like Bozo the Clown.

 

The threader asked if I wanted a particular shape and I bravely said, “Do what you think is best.” She immediately began twisting and doubling her thread and my eyebrows were done in about five minutes. “You want lip?” she asked in a rather rhetorical way.  Whenever someone is that close to your face and ‘asking’ if you’d like maintenance, you best do it.

 

Thus, a few seconds later, I was contorting my lips as modeled by the threader. “You do this before?” she asked me, twice, while threading. “Yes, but not here,” I replied, twice. When she finished threading she told me, “You have good lip. Not sensitive. Usually, everybody very squirm.” “Thank you,” I responded and added, “Many have said that I have a stiff upper lip and now you have confirmed it.”

 

My threader continued to chat with me, telling me she gets her lips and brows threaded by her coworker and threads everything else herself. “Everything?” I asked. “Everything,” she said and giggled. It appears she, too, has a stiff upper lip.

A while back FatGirl sent Tree and I a copy of a book he is writing. On the cover, just after the title, he inserted the copyright symbol. “You cannot just put a ‘c’ in a circle and consider yourself copyrighted,” Tree told me. “No? What about a ‘TM’ at the end of everything? Or, even better, a ‘R’ in a circle?” I asked. “No,” he solidly replied. He should really consider registering that tone.

 

Later, as I thought about our conversation, I decided it might be fun to start copyrighting, all rights reserving, patenting, trademarking and registering almost all that I do.™ It won’t be official, not much that I do is, but I attempt to trademark it by wearing my best patent, yes, patent, leather shoes.©

 

I may not be able to able to put a square peg in a round hole but, thanks to word processing, I can put a ‘c’ in a circle. © ™ ®

Chauffeur and Cream Of Tartar have a very special relationship. They work together, play together, drink together and, on special occasions, smoke cigars together. When we couldn’t find them the other day I offered to look for them, followed the sound of the music, and found them smoking cigars and drinking just outside the garage.

 

As we chatted they both provided counsel and insight. “If I was a woman I would be a bisexual,” Chauffeur said. “And if you weren’t a woman?” I asked. “Follow your heart,” Cream Of Tartar advised.”You know, I don’t invite just anyone to our cabin. If you get invited you are family,” Chauffeur told me, referring to almost 18 months ago when I joined him, BioMom, Cream Of Tartar and Oreggano for a weekend in the woods.

 

I retreated to the rest of the group and Chauffeur soon followed, extending a cabin invitation to everyone. As I attempted to get more details from him he said, “Look, I don’t know. I’m just the Chauffeur and today she’s (BioMom) driving.”

 

He eventually returned to his post outside with Cream Of Tartar and MiniMe decided to join them. When she returned she shared the counsel she received, “I should be a lesbian; If I’m going to date men I need to be the alpha female; and I really need to ‘live a little’ until I’m older.”

 

There’s nothing quite like the counsel one receives from a cabbie – whether it be someone driving your cab or, in Chauffeur’s case – a bus, or if it is counsel your friends provide after drinking a lot of Cabernet Sauvignon – it is almost always very interesting counsel, thus, a second (sober) opinion is highly recommended.

 

Recently a friend passed away. Other words or terms to explain what happened include, ‘perished, kicked the bucket, wearing a pine overcoat, ceased to exist, expired, croaked, departed, etc.’ Being that most of his family had perished before him, his only brother who had not yet expired held a wake in his honor. I’m not a fan of funerals and, without MC Static Cling by my side to put the ‘fun’ in funeral, was pleased to learn 1) they would only be holding a wake and 2) it would be at a local gay bar.

 

The wake took place yesterday; three weeks after we learned of his death. If you’re doing the math, which I’m hoping you are, that was on National Corndog Day (NCD). As we were enjoying the festivities of NCD, Tree entered the kitchen and shared the news, “Ricky is dead.” “Is he OK?” I asked, quoting Small Apartments. “No. He’s dead,” Tree said while laughing. Have I mentioned were assholes? If you who haven’t seen the movie, don’t, just take my word, the ‘your landlord is dead’ scenes are amazing.

 

Tree and I discussed our attire the night before the wake. He planned to wear a black dress shirt, tie, manpris and a fedora. I hadn’t decided on a dress, but I had a vintage black pillbox funeral hat with a veil that I had been dying to wear  – pun intended. I arrived in my hat to be greeted by one of my favorite drag queens, “Oh girl, only white people would wear a veil in the afternoon. I should have worn a hat like that.” “Good mourning to you too,” I replied and sat on the stool next to her. Like me, funerals weren’t her thing, nor is death. “You know,” she told me, “Right after he died one of my friends told me that his mama and brother came and got him. I was like, ‘His mama and brother? I thought they were dead!’ Then my friend said, ‘They are dead. Their spirits took him away.’ Crazy shit.” With that, we raised our glasses  in his honor, I raised my veil so I could drink and we made a toast, “To good mourning!”

While driving to the frozen yogurt shop for dinner I received a call from Tree who informed me, “I’m making my famous BLTs.” “Who said they’re famous?” I asked. “I did,” he replied. “That sounds delicious. I’m planning on having mochi and raspberries in frozen yogurt for dinner,” I said. “Well you can have a BLT instead,” He told me. “How?” I asked. “Come on over!” he replied

 

I quickly re-routed and headed to the liquor store because I didn’t want to show up empty handed and I knew, if I asked, which I did, he would mention wine needs. As I perused the store I sent Tree a text, “At the liquor store now. It is packed tighter than my ass in my pants.” “Are you saying it’s got a hangover?” he quipped. Earlier that day I had informed him and anyone else who would listen that I have a hangover every morning and it is not from drinking, rather, it happens when I put on my pants. As I continued to peruse the store I ran smack dab into MiniMe. Awkward.

 

The awkwardness continued when I arrived at Tree’s house with a bottle of wine, two packages of chips and a half-gallon of ice cream (I needed some snacks for the drive and wanted to make sure my frozen dessert craving was satisfied). He was making my BLT, his aunt was watching TV and his mom was attempting to sleep off a cold in her bedroom.  After only a few minutes of being there his aunt informed me she was heading to her bedroom as well. “Are you going to bed?” I asked. “I’m actually going to smoke marijuana, so if you notice any funny smells it is because of the weed. Do you want some?” was her reply. “No thank you,” I politely replied. “Awkward,” Tree commented and added, “See what I’m up against. No wonder I have problems.”

 

A few minutes later a guy who Tree met online stopped by to join us.  While Tree’s mom and aunt were ‘sleeping’ in their rooms, Tree and I excitedly shared stories about our past and plans for our future (talk show) while the guy, who probably expected to be alone with Tree and arrived to see me – awkward, sat quietly in between us.

 

Not to let the awkwardness of it all – this day, my life – get in the way, I continued to enjoy my wine, the E! TV and, the videos Tree was sharing with me (not really with ‘us’) on his computer. As we bantered back and forth he received an alert that his battery was about to die. A few minutes into a music video the screen went black but the music still played. A few seconds later, silence.  “I can’t believe you didn’t charge your battery before we came over. I always charge my battery for my guests,” I told him, finished my glass of wine and, like the computer, faded to black and headed home.