Category: blog

The non-traditional traditional Chinese New Year’s Eve I celebrated with That’s Not Chinese and Unfazed went off without a hitch. I’ve no doubt it is because of my thorough research and, thanks to the research, unwashed hair.

 

Being that my hair was unwashed I decided to accessorize it with my TressAllure ‘Ginger Snap’ ponytail hairpiece. Wanting to be sure to fend off the Year, I wore lots of red, to include a French ribbon (not Chinese, I know) that I tied around my waist. I completed my outfit with some faux fur atop my faux Frye boots – both made in China, thus, very Chinese.

 

That’s Not Chinese and Unfazed were very excited for the New Year and, mostly, the Grammy Awards. “I’ll do my best to participate and enjoy,” I told them and added, “but I haven’t seen any movies this year so I won’t know any of the nominees.” “That’s the Oscars,” Unfazed advised. “Whatever. Regardless, I hope Argo wins,” I replied. “My vote is for Rent,” That’s Not Chinese quipped. “In that case, I want Seal to win for Kiss From A Rose and I’m really hoping Gary Busey wins The Apprentice,” Unfazed piped in.

 

When Mumford & Sons started playing, That’s Not Chinese started shushing. “You know I hate being shushed. Don’t make me pull out my Ginger Snap and slap you with it,” I told her. A few minutes later her new kitten, Vincent, started pulling at my Ginger Snap. “Ha! Ginger Snap is going down Vinnie style,” That’s Not Chinese excitedly announced. “Listen, I brushed this hairpiece out pre-party. Easy tiger,” I told her and Vincent.  One would think with a name like Vincent there would be a little more Law & Order at That’s Not Chinese’s house – not so.

 

Eventually, I took my Ginger Snap and departed, stepping over the red pepper I had placed in front of the door to fend off the Year, and leaving behind the food I gifted them (chocolate truffle calcium supplements). “See you in two weeks for the Oscars?” I asked and added, “I wonder if Fun. will win.”

 

 

Today is Chinese New Year  and being that I’m spending it with the expert of all things Chinese, That’s Not Chinese, I thought it would be best if I read up on the celebrations. While doing so, I ran across a tradition that makes me think there may be a reason why I’ve been sleeping so much lately – to prepare for Shou Sui.

Shou Sui is the term referring to when people stay up all night after the New Year’s Eve dinner. Apparently the reason for doing so is to fend off the ‘Year’ – an evil beast. In addition to Shou Sui-ing the Year, color (red), sound (pans) and fire (works) are recommended methods for keeping the Year at bay.

Prior to Shou Sui-ing, one must first dine. The New Year’s Eve dinner, known as the reunion dinner, is something typically done with family. Although That’s Not Chinese and Unfazed are not my family, or Chinese, they are ‘in the family,’ as the LGBTQs often say, so we are keeping with tradition.

I sent a message to That’s Not Chinese advising her of the importance of the reunion dinner, the fact that fish is the preferred entree, and that beef, her favorite, is very bad luck on this day. She replied, “Living up to my name and making Mexican food. Chicken enchiladas. Woot!”

I promised her I would leave my broom at home (which means I won’t be flying there) and asked her to put her broom and dust pan away – we don’t need any bad luck or weird sex shenanigans on this important day.

I plan to arrive with gifts in red envelopes, red wine, and food to place in front of the door. Being that it is the year of the snake – intelligent and unscrupulous creatures – I want to make sure I’ve done everything to keep evil out of this new year. Speaking of years and snakes, based on last year’s dating pool, I could have sworn the year of the snake was last year. Oh well, here’s to this year and unscrupulous shou sui-ing!

For a reason completely unknown to me, I seem to be remembering everyone I have previously dated as ‘Kevin.’ This is a strange phenomenon being that I’ve never dated anyone named Kevin.

 

I shared this information with Acehole, an asshole formerly known as Oreggano (will explain later), and she asked, “Do you even know any Kevins?” “No, not really. Maybe one or two through work or friends’ partners,” I replied and added, “Maybe it is a sign that I am going to date someone called Kevin. I hope so because, even if I don’t, I will probably call him Kevin. This could be why previous ‘relationships’ didn’t last.”

 

Speaking of calling people things, the other night, while rooting for the Lakers at the Super Bowl party, Cream Of Tartar sent That’s Not Chinese a message about a spade cat. Acehole and I giggled and then advised him of his grammatical error. “I like to call a spayed a spade,” I quipped. “This is going nowhere South quickly,” Acehole replied.

 

And so it was, Oreggano became Acehole, Cream Of Tartar became Spade, and anyone I date or have dated will be Kevin. I realize it’s a gamble, but so was betting on The Lakers.

Oreggano, Respectable Professional and I met up with MyFace and her work friends for happy hours – yes, with us, it is plural. Also joining us was our friend whose first date we crashed. “Guess what I found out? He’s married! Married! I’m meeting another guy tonight, he’ll be coming here.” “Wait, is this another first date we’ll be on with you?” Oreggano asked. “Yes,” she replied. “Awkward is becoming the norm,” I interjected.

 

Once everyone was at the table, first date excluded because this would have been really awkward, we decided introductions were in order. Instead of just saying who we were and our profession we decided it would be nice to also mention the last time sex was had. As we did introductions cheers and applause increased and I had a feeling what happened soon after might happen: the manager checked in on us and then told us other patrons had asked if we could keep it down. Based on all of our last sexual encounters, getting it up was our strength, not keeping it down. After the manager walked away Oreggano loudly told the table, “Do you know how many times we’ve (the we with her being me) been told we’re too late? Please.” “I wouldn’t mind getting kicked out, especially before paying,” I replied. Always classy, often trashy.

 

Right soon after this incident, Respectable Professional received a text and advised us it was time to go, “I’ve got to go make the last time I had sex more recent.” “Was that a booty call?” Oreggano asked. “Yes,” Respectable Professional replied with a Cheshire cat smile. She had been quite tight lipped (pun intended…remember, often trashy) about her booty call and the only thing we knew about him is that he lived just around the mountain from her.  With this information in mind, I started singing, “She’ll be coming ’round the mountain when she cums.” “When she cums!” Oreggano piped in and added, “Don’t make us follow you to find out more about him!” “Good idea,” I told Oreggano and then added upon her brilliance, “Once we get there we can knock on the door and start singing, ‘She’ll be coming ’round the mountain when she cums!'” Once I got to the song part, others at the table chimed in. “This is great! We can be the Booty Call Carolers! We’re going to need a few more songs.”

 

Booty Call Carolers ‘Set’ List:

 

She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain – The Wiggles

Booty Call – G. Love

Call Me – Too $hort ft. Lil’ Kim

Booty Call – Ke$ha

Late Night Call aka I’m Horny – Soulja Boy

Call Me – Skyy

Booty Call – Fast Eddie

Call – Ashanti

Need You Now – Lady Antebellum (this one will bring back the ‘romance’ a bit)

 

 

Lately Oreggano has been having a lot of dreams about dying. She had a little concern about the dreams and I tried to assure her they were just dreams. To provide further assurance, I did an online search specific to dreams about dying and we learned they typically signify change and transformation. I went a step further and checked one of my clearance sale purchases: Fortune-Telling Book of Dreams. According to this book, ‘to converse with the dead indicates the arrival of excellent news.’

 

A few days later, I shared some rather excellent news with Oreggano, “Last night I had a dream that I had earwax that wouldn’t stop and toothpicks for legs, literally. In my dream some guy said to me, ‘You’ve got toothpicks for legs.’ I looked down and, sure as shit, I had toothpicks for legs. Good news is, I don’t, nor do I have earwax that won’t quit.”

 

As I shared my toothpicks dream with Q she advised me that she, too, was not a firm believer in dreams and that the other night she was punching her husband in her dream and, apparently, in real life. Her husband, of course, attempted to both stop her and wake her – she screamed in his face, all the while still sleeping. “Had you recently assaulted someone and had doing so on your mind?” I asked her. “Nope. Nothing,” she replied. Her coworker piped in, “The other night I was dreaming and apparently scooted in toward my beau and said, ‘Put it in my butt.'” “Wow. Did he and do you like that?” “No and no. I was only dreaming,” she replied.

For whatever reason, I have not been ‘feeling it’ lately. As a result, I have been sleeping a lot and blogging a lot less. The latter is a problem for those who read regularly (a big shout out to Sleepless – my biggest fan), however, not a problem for most others. For example, Live Longer started reading my blog a few months ago and told me, “I’ve started reading. I’m going to be a dedicated daily.” Then, when she was having trouble sleeping, I mentioned the blog and she said, “I always forget about that.” Passed The Sniff Test is a lot like many of my other fair weather/whether friends (That’s Not Chinese I’m talking about you here) – he only reads when he is in it.

 

“You still blogging?” Passed The Sniff Test recently asked. “Yes. Let me guess, you only read when you’re in it?” I replied. “Well, that, and I haven’t seen you for a while, and I don’t really know a lot of the people in it, and….” Like so many others, his reading is dependent upon whether or not he is mentioned – a true fair ‘whether’ friend.

 

Enough about them, let’s get back to talking about me and the weather.

 

Lately, I’ve been really tired and the weather has not been very fair. The weather, in fact, has been quite bad. Many of my friends who believe in things think the weather, and whether or not one is sleeping a lot or ‘not feeling it,’ has a lot to do with the end of the Mayan calendar. As a non-believer, I don’t agree. I do, however, believe that I like fair weather and tend to have more energy and see more friends when the weather is better. Plus, with these dark hazy nights upon us, I tend to spend most of my time inside, watching mindless, catty, visually beautiful television, specifically, Gossip Girl. Which may really be the root of my problem because watching tv can be exhausting and isn’t something I do on a regular basis. Plus, if you’ve watched Gossip Girl you know these ‘friends’ are assholes regardless the weather/whether. Which makes me wonder, is my blog something the characters of Gossip Girl would have read and, more importantly, should I start posting ‘spotted’ pictures?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oreggano and Cream Of Tartar decided to host a XLVII Super Bowl party. Being the avid fan of football that I am not, I was very excited to get my game on. I arrived early to help with the preparations, namely, testing the skinny margaritas.

 

While I enjoyed my skinny margarita, Oreggano decided to make sure they had the channel on which the game was being aired. Fortunately they did, however, being that they don’t have cable, the reception was quite shaky. “This is my kind of Super Bowl party,” I told her. “Luckily none of us really care about the game – just the food and drinks,” she replied then suggested we relax with our drinks on the back patio.

 

About an hour later, we went inside to find Cream Of Tartar in the kitchen. “Did I miss kickoff?” he asked. Oreggano looked at the shaky screen and said, “Looks like we all did. Skinny margarita?”

 

Eventually the other guests arrived and, eventually, they left with a quarter or so left in the game and a quarter or so of pie left on the table. At some point in the game the screen displayed ‘2nd & 8.’ Oreggano declared, “It’s anybody’s game.” “At this point, even the Lakers could win,” I replied and added, “Let’s make that 2nd & ATE and have a wine and pie date.” She and I retreated to the table, enjoyed the quarter of pie and classed up our wine with a red vine.

 

BioMom was actually watching the game and, as we were taking pictures of our wine and ourselves for all of our fans on facebook and instagram, she shouted out to the shaky screen, on which the timer was flashing 11 seconds, “Oh finish already!” “Do you say that to Chauffeur with only 11 seconds left?” I asked. “I’m usually done by then, so, yeah,” she replied. “Go Lakers!” Oreggano shouted, took a sip of wine through her red vine and had seconds of the pie. Seconds, ate.

Tree and I decided to spend a night on the dance floor at one of his favorite restaurant bars. When we arrived the house music was thumping and the crowd, well, I’m not quite sure what exactly they were doing. “I’ve learned most of my dance moves from Hooked on Aerobics and Just Dance, so I think I’m just going to follow the lead of some of these hipsters,” I told Tree while kicking my legs like the hipster next to me. “I’d really just like to dance like Molly Wringwald in the 80s,” he replied.

 

After making fun of dance moves for at least two songs, we decided to change venues. We arrived at the gay bar to find better music, dance moves, and entertainment. Although packed with gay men, the bar was also sprinkled with straights, many of whom were there as a couple. “Why is it that everyone loves gay bars?” Tree asked. “Maybe because they’re so accepting,” I replied while throwing down some low impact soft rebounds (thank you Jane Fonda).

 

“Oh God, straights on the stage,” Tree observed and then noticed a group of straight men with their shirts off. “Gays don’t even do that nowadays.” We danced freely, only dancing into people who had danced into Tree in the past. As we did so we observed a foursome: two girls, two guys. The girls appeared to be drunk and into everyone. The boys appeared to be gay, acting straight, aka, stray. One of the strays attempted (unsuccessfully) to get me to make out with his ‘wife.’ I respectfully declined and he then asked Tree if I was his wife. “I think they were hoping for some swinging,” Tree told me. Unfortunately for them, we aren’t into the stray (straight/gay) way and the only swinging we plan to be doing is of the dance variety.

It isn’t uncommon for my friends and I to discuss relationships. Typically, we’ll talk about everybody else’s relationships, but every now and again we’ll talk about our relationships. Or, in the case of Tree and I, our lack of.

 

This can become a rather deep conversation at times and, as a result of a lot of analysis, I’ve got some opinions about it. “My gut is pretty spot on when it comes to people and relationships,” I told Oreggano. “That is true,” she replied. “Unfortunately, for whatever reason, I choose not to listen to it whenever the situation might cause a lot of problems or pain.” “Spot on, as usual,” Oreggano replied.

 

Live Longer stopped by a few minutes into our conversation and advised, “I think you’ve just got a  bad picker.” A bad picker. Hmmm. She may be onto something. Anyone know of a good picker fixer?

The other night I pulled into a parking lot and my coworker pulled into the stall next to me. Before I got out of my car I heard what sounded like a car getting hit. I looked in my side mirror and saw a car driving by with a dent on it’s rear passenger side.

 

I looked over to see that my coworker was still in his vehicle and did not appear to be effected by the incident. A bit bewildered, I got out of my car and looked toward the car with the dent. The driver had parked several spots away, assessed the damage, then went into a nearby retail outlet. “You just hit that car, right?” I asked my coworker. “I don’t think so. I think maybe it was a close call,” he replied. “I’m pretty sure you hit the car,” I said. We walked to the back of his car and found what police refer to as evidence. “Wow, I did. Weird,” my coworker replied.

 

We then waited by our cars for the man to return to his car and address the incident. The man exited the retail establishment a few minutes later, looked our way, walked around to the passenger side of his vehicle, assessed the damage, got back in his vehicle and left the parking lot as quickly as he entered it, completely disregarding the dent.  “Did that really just happen?” my coworker asked. “Yes, yes it did. We were just party to a get hit and run.”