Category: blog

Sleepless had something in her eye the other day and it wasn’t me or an apple, rather, something on her contact. “Do you have contact solution?” She asked me and added, “I think I left some here once.” “I think I did, but I’m pretty sure I threw it out because it was expired,” I replied. “Oh, I don’t really think it expires,” she told me. I wonder if that is true for the expired condoms I tossed out the day prior. Oh well, too late now.

 

While Sleepless and I were scouring through my cardboard medicine box for contact solution, or something like it, Live Longer provided an alternative solution. “My saliva has healing powers. Put anything in my mouth,” she proudly told us. We followed her instruction by giving her another glass of wine.

 

Live Longer enjoyed her wine, Sleepless removed her contact, and Ice Cream Man, once again, became the only man at the table. We began discussing anxiety causing situations when Ice Cream Man boldly told Sleepless,”I’ve got documented anxiety problems but yours are clinical and far worse.” Uh oh. Looks like Sleepless’ contact isn’t her only irritant today. Ice Cream Man may want to try taking his foot out of his mouth and putting it in Live Longer’s mouth because that comment is going to require some major healing powers.

It’s no secret that English may not be my first or second language. The same is true for Live Longer.

 

While enjoying a lovely spread of bread, food and wine with friends, some of my guests suggested I try on my wedding dress (from the late 1900s) and accessorize it with my veil, shoes and the horsehead Live Longer recently acquired. I did so, we had a few laughs, took several photos, and I returned to my bedroom to change back into something I could actually zip up all the way.

 

Live Longer came into the bedroom and, as I was undressing, I accidentally hit her with my arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hut you,” I apologized. “Hut me?” she replied laughing and then asked. “Did you get  a new bread spread?” “No, I didn’t get a new bed spread,” I replied. “You probably just haven’t seen it before because there are usually clothes on it,” Sleepless quipped.

 

We returned to the table and started chatting about other items when Live Longer, again, mispronounced something. “You know English isn’t my first language,” she advised me. “Yes, I know,” I replied. A little while later Ice Cream Man, who had visited the loo which is right next to my bedroom, entered the dining area and asked, “Did you get a new bedspread?” “Let me answer in terms Live Longer will understand, ‘No, I did not get a new breadspread,'” I replied and then continued to enjoy the bread spread before me. It’s no wonder my wedding dress no longer fits.

The beauty about legal terms, for example, ‘legalease,’ is they are not always easily understood.

 

Acehole, Not So Little Man and I were having coffee and discussing some real estate issues BeCuz was experiencing. “I’m  pretty sure the statue of limitations has passed,” Acehole advised. “What is it? Three weeks?” Not So Little man asked. “Is what three weeks?” I asked. “The statute of limitations. Isn’t it always three weeks?” Not So Little Man clarified and questioned. Acehole laughed and advised him, “Statute of limitations vary depending on the situation and I’ve never heard of a three week limitation.”

 

Later in the day I was with Sleepless, Ice Cream Man, Live Longer, Good Eye Money Guy, I’ll Drink It, Skiwi and DDDG and Ice Cream Man was sharing a story about his most recent interaction with those whose jobs are driven by legalease. “They wanted to charge me with a Class A Felony,” Ice Cream Man told us. “Misdemea…” Sleepless started to correct with an interject. “Why did you get an open container charge if the bag was sealed?” DDDG asked Ice Cream Man, referencing the breast milk bag full of whiskey that was in his pocket at time of said incident. “She would make an excellent attorney,” Skiwi quipped.

 

Disclaimer: I am only liable for this blog entry for three weeks from this, the 2nd day of March, 2013.

Literally defined, a representative slice is a combination of two definitions: a thin, broad piece cut from a larger person or object that represents another or others. I recently became aware of the term when purchasing bacon and wanting to see more of the meat I would be putting in my mouth. The front window on the package showed some of the meat, but I was interested in seeing all of the meat (so many double entendres here), so I turned the package over and found an option to pull part of the package back to view a ‘representative slice.’ As I did so, I thought to myself, “It sure would be nice to have this feature on people.”

 

Then, like the Enjoli perfume commercial, I brought home the bacon and fried it up in a pan. I don’t currently have anyone in my life who needs to be reminded he is a man, so I continued onto another task – trying to find my bus pass. My buss pass has been missing for at least a year, if not longer. I have checked my purses and wallets several times, all to no avail, however, decided to thoroughly check them again this evening.

 

I went through every pocket and window insert, removing everything and placing what I found in a pile on the floor. About an hour, and no bus pass, later I assessed my pile. Multiple frequent punch passes with only one punch, two expired condoms, a small white pill, $40 and a travel tissue. Or, in bacon terms, a representative slice of my whole package.

 

I have said, many a times, that my primary duty at work is to smile and look pretty. Thus, when I learned I may be grinding my teeth, I knew I had to remedy the situation and fast because while I’m grinding away my moneymaker, other people are chomping at the bit for a prestigious position such as mine. I jest, a little.

 

The hygienist suggested a mouthguard and I respectfully declined advising her I have a retainer at home that should do the job. I relayed this exchange with Sleepless. “Will your retainer prevent you from grinding your teeth?” she asked. I assured her it is an in credibly unattractive retainer that has enhanced features that 1) prevent my teeth from touching, 2) cause my lips to protrude and 3) prevent any possible attraction which is why I only wear them when I absolutely have to do so. Apparently, that time is now.

 

Prior to leaving the appointment the hygienist hooked me up with the standard souvenirs: toothbrush, toothpaste and dental floss. That night, I went home, rinsed the dust (actually, calcified saliva) off my retainers and was reminded of the cute sticker MiniMe selected to have placed in the roof of my top retainer. Not familiar with the character, I did an online search for ‘female villain red dress and hat.’  Right at the top of my search results was ‘Red Hat Society.’ “Fitting,” I thought to myself, as I took the Sensodyne sample out of my bag and prepared to brush my teeth. Sensodyne. I remember seeing this in the home of ‘older adults’ and, yet, here I am using it prior to putting my retainer/mouth guard with the Red Hat Society villain on it in my mouth.

 

I guess it could be worse. I could be taking my teeth out at night and brushing them with Polident. For now, I’m grateful for what I’ve got. So, I’ll pop my retainers in, smile and look pretty….unattractive.

The problem with whiskey tastings is simple: whiskey.

 

Although not my favorite spirit, I don’t mind whiskey. I mean, I regularly eat multi-grain bread which, with the exception of not being a distilled alcoholic beverage, is essentially the exact same thing. Like my bread, I quite like whiskey when paired with cheese and friends. So, when a nearby restaurant offered a whiskey tasting with tapas, Acehole, Cream Of Tartar, Live Longer, Big Bounty and I immediately signed up – we’re suckers (literally) for drinking events.

 

As soon as we were seated the server brought us cheese plates and prairie punch. Although we had two more friends joining us, we really didn’t want to wait to imbibe, so we raised our glasses to make a toast. Sadly, some of my punch spilled out before even making it to my mouth. Disappointed about this fact, and not wanting to miss out on a full glass of prairie punch, I decided to switch out my spilled glass with one of the untouched glasses at the end of the table. Concerned our other friends would arrive and notice the discrepancy in pours, Cream Of Tartar drank from the other glass to even out the amount.

 

For a few seconds I felt bad about what we had done, but then I remembered the Whiskey Rebellion and realized that, 222 years later, we were just doing what our founding fathers would have done. We observed libations without representation, specifically whiskey, and we acted. Whiskey. Act. 2013. I’ll drink to that.

I went to the dentist today for my bi-annual cleaning and, as the hygienist cleaned my teeth, she asked a lot of questions. This is one of my favorite types of conversations, where one person talks and I have no opportunity, at all, to reply.

 

“Did you have braces? Do you have sensitivity? It looks like you’ve been grinding your teeth. Have you? I can tell you have because of the line on your gums and the slight receding. Open big. Does it hurt to open? No, OK. Wow, you have a small mouth and big beautiful teeth – no wonder you needed braces.”

 

After the cleaning – no cavities on my big beautiful teeth in my small mouth – she applied the flouride. I always forget about the film this leaves on my teeth for the rest of the day – one more stressor to grind my teeth over later.

 

Hungry, I headed to a bagel shop for something soft to eat (no crispy or hot foods or drinks when flashing the flouride film). I ordered a soft egg wrap and, as I sat trying to carefully eat my meal, one of the employees returned from the back of the shop with a tissue in her hand. “Check this out! Can you believe it?” All of the employees gathered around her – some laughed, others backed away. “Seriously, it is so big. I can’t believe it came out of my small nose. I knew something was up there but I had no idea it was this big. Crazy.”

 

Crazy is right booger bitch. I am trying to eat a soft wrap with my big teeth and small mouth and the big booger from your small nose just ruined it for me.

MiniMe stopped by Live Longer’s house the other night for dinner and shared her ‘life as an adult woes’ with us, specifically, those involving a career in education.

 

Education professions, as a general rule, are not opportunities to display one’s brilliant fashion sense. In fact, they are quite the contrary. Sense comes into play, but it has nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with appropriateness and sensibility. A turtleneck, khaki pants and sneakers (preferably white) are a perfect example of appropriate sensibility. The nice bit about this outfit is it can be unisex. Hello asexuality, goodbye fashion personality. “See, look,” Live Longer said while gesturing toward Certified Teacher who was sitting at the kitchen bar correcting papers.

 

Another fun and functional outfit for female or cross-dressing teachers is a long, round-neck, denim dress complimented with a novelty sweater. The white sneakers are, again, a perfect and sensible way to balance out this very appropriate teaching ensemble.

 

As we shared ideas with MiniMe we heard a noise from Certified Teacher’s corner. “Did you just fart?” Live Longer asked. “Ask me again,” he said. She did, and he did, again. “I do it all of the time at school,” he said. “You crop dust the students with that loud of a fart?” I asked. “Shake your keys,” he stated. “Shake your keys?” Live Longer and I asked in unison. “Yea, shake your keys and they never notice. Even if they do, they never say anything,” he advised.

 

Alas, even when dressed appropriately, one can behave inappropriately.

When snow blankets the outdoors I have a tendency to stay under my blankets indoors, which is exactly what I did today. After several hours of lying in bed, looking out the window, and wondering when someone would stop shaking the snow globe, I got up, made a pot of coffee, and enhanced it and my day with a little bit of Bailey’s.

 

Having finished the third season of Gossip Girl, and being waitlisted at the library for season four, I figured this was as good a time as any to read one of my recent library finds, I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti by Giulia Melucci. This book is brilliant. At times I felt as though I was reading my own journal – except for the fact that I don’t cook, I’m not Italian (although Alice and I did try to master the language once), and I don’t live in New York. Details, minor details.

 

Inspired by Giulia’s love to cook, I decided to head to my kitchen and bake up some magic. Luckily, I had just what I needed to make lemon poppyseed muffins: eggs, vegetable oil, milk and, hidden deep in the back of my pantry, a Duncan Hines baking mix (with a ‘Better If Used By’ date of 23DEC2010).

 

15-18 minutes later I was enjoying homemade muffins, a cup of coffee, a lovely fire (on my TV), my CO chair, and the warmth of my blanket. Once I finished the muffin I decided to research ‘Better If Used By.’ Safety is the main reason for providing this date, thus, even if years have passed, the quality of the product could still be good. One of the best ways to test whether or not the product is still good is to smell it.  Based on last night’s smelling, I feel safe in saying my muffin and I have a lot in common – semi-sweet, appropriate for one person, our ‘top’ is a favorite to many, and, even when the better if used by date is passed, we’re still a tasty treat to some.

 

Several weeks ago Live Longer and I signed up for a Prosecco tasting. A little frazzled from a long day at work, I was running late. “Don’t worry, everyone is just enjoying a glass of champagne and chatting. We haven’t started yet,” Live Longer advised me. I arrived to find what Live Longer said to still be true. “When are we starting the whiskey tastings?” I asked. “Wrong event. That’s next week,” Live Longer replied. I should have known better, whiskey and sushi is a fishy combo.

 

We sat at the kotatsu – Japanese for low dining table – and enjoyed our Adami Prosecco – the latter is Italian for sparkling wine and, at a tasting hosted by the maker, is not to be confused with champagne. I left our kotatsu to chat with some friends at a neighboring kotatsu. I returned to find 1) I was a few glasses behind the rest of the table and 2) we had a new guest joining us. “We squoze (slang for squeezed) him in, hope you don’t mind,” Live Longer told me as I squeezed in between her and our chef friend, Smeller.

 

As I attempted to catch up on the pours and, on one occasion, was skipped – I’m guessing it is because I rudely beckoned the libationist as opposed to politely raising my empty glass – Smeller was taking in whiffs of me. “You smell really good. Really good,” he told me and then told Live Longer, while sniffing my hair, “She smells really good.” “I’m sure it is my shampoo and conditioner. Although, it could be my perfume. I’m wearing Paris Hilton and she, surprisingly, smells good,” I replied. “I think someone likes you,” Live Longer told me while gesturing toward Smeller. She may be right. But I wonder, is the old saying true, “Is the smeller the feller?”