Category: blog

We’ve all been to one of those parties or know one of those people where/who, regardless of what happened, the blame is put on you; if not you, anyone but them.

 

I had this party on Sunday.

 

We were sitting around the table, catching up, when it started. Beaner was sharing a story and as she did so, and we asked her further questions, she first blamed Live Longer, then me. “Well she suggested it and she did it too.” The details of the situation don’t matter, just the blame.

 

Ice Cream Man then told us a story about a recent situation in which he received a citation for peeing on a tree and having whiskey in a breast milk bag in his pocket on a college campus. “I finished my whiskey,” Sleepless told us and added, “And I told him cops were coming. Six cops later….” “You could have yelled that louder,” Ice Cream Man told her. “Did you finish your pee?” I asked. “I don’t even know if I started,” he replied.

 

High Kick immersed from the back bedroom and said, “Sorry. I’m not used to drinking so much. I’m only 100 pounds and so…” then she retreated to the back bedroom again.

 

Live Longer shared some stories with us about her recent trip to Mexico and how her friend got sick from a street food vendor, “I think she got sick from the toothless guy who sold her food.” “Why?” I asked. “Because he was toothless,” she replied and then said, “I couldn’t poo the whole trip. I blame Mexico. Oh, I just noticed, this is the party of blame. I like it.”

 

 

It has been a while since the Elite Alumni have gotten together and with High Kick in town for the holidays we thought we should hold an Elite Alumni Reunion (E.A.R.). Being that most reunions are in the summer, we opted for a holiday theme:  Feast Day of the Immaculate Conception – an Italian tradition that involves feasts (appetizers and drinks), traditional singing (karaoke), bonfires (On My Terms smoking), and parades (loitering on my neighborhood streets). A few weeks before the big day, I suggested one more element to the event: vintage cocktail attire.

 

I grabbed my grandma’s pillbox hat, my secondhand shoes and dress, put the old fashioned (not to be confused with just ‘old’) candy in the candy dish, poured myself a White Russian, and waited for my guests. As the guests arrived, I was quickly reminded of SchoolGirlOke – the karaoke event where Tree and I were the only people in costume; however, this time, it was just me. Oh well, as a very well known Italian, Gianni Versace, once said, “I’m trying to break the border between chic and shock.” I had no idea I would soon not be alone in this effort.

 

The evening went as planned – eating, drinking, singing, smoking, loitering (we kept it to the stoop and property lines due to the inclement weather) – with only a few unexpected events. Our good friend, High Kick, who we hadn’t seen for at least 10 or 15 years arrived ready to celebrate. She hadn’t noticed the cocktail attire notation on the invite, however, immediately wanted to take a look at the costume box for an outfit. Once we found her a dress, the celebration of the immaculate conception really began.
Many are confused about the meaning of immaculate conception and think it has something to do with the virgin birth of Jesus. Not so. It refers solely to the  fact that, since her own birth, the Virgin Mary was entirely free of original sin. Although we hadn’t seen High Kick for many years, we have seen her uplifting and peaceful posts on facebook. Thus, we all assumed it would be a relatively mellow celebration. We were so wrong. We quickly learned about High Kick what we already knew about ourselves, we are not really saints.

 

Within an hour or so of changing into a dress, she wanted to change into another dress and wanted Bruiser to join her. Bruiser hesitantly obliged and was soon donning a lovely dress once worn at PromOke. In Bruiser’s attempt to meet the vintage cocktail request, she had worn a short jacket with a fur collar (which High Kick tossed across the room) and bright red lipstick. As High Kick was persuading Bruiser to lay on the bed, in her dress, and do multiple high kicks – her signature move throughout the evening – she became consumed by Bruiser’s lipstick. “What is this? We are not in New York. You have got to take this off!” High Kick said while ferociously rubbing Bruiser’s lips. “It’s stay on lipstick,” Bruiser advised. “You have got to get it together,” High Kick told her and then instructed, “Now, kick!”

 

We retreated upstairs where the others had remained and were able to hear the basement shenanigans. High Kick made her way to the laps of On My Terms and Scared and, as she had been doing throughout the evening, demanded photos. I started snapping and High Kick directed poses. “You’re not smiling in any of the pictures,” High Kick told Scared. “I have the same look in every one,” Scared replied and added, “Scared.”

 

As the evening progressed, perhaps regressed is a better word, High Kick decided to join On My Terms for a cigarette – something she does not normally do. Not So Little Man and I thought this would be a great opportunity to film a Stoop Ed and immediately pulled out the flashlight (for lighting), fur coats (for warmth), hipster glasses (for credibility) and two cameras (for angles). Although we didn’t really learn one specific thing on the stoop, we got a lot of little tidbits and are considering titling the lesson, “Trainwreck. Keep Watching.” Just before ending the filming, High Kick told On My Terms, “I’m going to let you come back.” “To where?” On My Terms asked. “Reality,” High Kick answered. “I’m the only one here,” On My Terms quipped.

 

It was true, at that specific moment in time, On My Terms appeared to be the only one in ‘reality.’ A few minutes later, however, reality was out the door and we were again celebrating like it was not only Feast Day of the Immaculate Conception, but like it was 1999. As we, and Prince, have said before, “If you didn’t come 2 party, don’t bother knockin’ on my door.”

 

In 1988, Robert Fulghum published a New York Times bestseller, All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Two decades later, people are still buying his book and affirming, “Robert Fulghum offers some uncommon insights on everyday occurances,” (quote from A Customer on Amazon). Nice work Robert and, yes, I know occurrences is spelled wrong, but that confirms my theory: I (and A Customer) didn’t learn all I really need to know in kindergarten.

 

I remember a couple of things from kindergarten – naps, milk, crackers and holiday decorations on the windows. I don’t recall much else. Thankfully, Robert’s book reminds me of what I should have learned – share everything, don’t hit others, play fair, flush, put things back where you found them, and we all die.

 

Today, over three decades since I’ve attended kindergarten, I learned a few more things. FatGirl was talking about dating prospects and told me, “I would love to go to prison for a while. There are some really hot straight guys in there and that is the only time I’ll ever have the chance to date them.” Later, when Tree and I were talking about a song sung by every kindergarteners favorite musical artist, Ke$ha, FatGirl said, “Speaking of, I don’t know if I had butt sex or if a chocolate covered pretzel melted in my bed, but…” I never would have learned either of these things in kindergarten.

 

Keeping in the learning mode, I attended a holiday party with Not So Little Man and his cousin. Many of the people at the party were in the medical field and began discussing common occurrences at the emergency department. “You can’t believe what we see up people’s butts – Eucerin Creme, summer squash, shampoo bottles. We even place bets on the brand of shampoo. Aussie almost always wins.” The conversation continued – I, of course, shared the story of Quagmire the Farting Ventriloquist – and they said, “It’s always straight, usually married, guys who end up in the ER. Gay guys can handle that kind of activity because their assholes are looser.” This is important knowledge that would never be taught in kindergarten.

 

That said, Fulghum was definitely right about one thing, “It wasn’t in books. It wasn’t in a church. What I needed to know was out there in the world.” Or, in my case, gay bars and holiday parties.

Years ago Beaner worked for a plastic surgeon. On a regular basis, he would approach her, lift her eyebrows with his fingers and say, “You should really do an eye lift.” During this time, I would regularly agree to be the guinea pig for the aestheticians. “Can you feel any burning on your skin?” they asked while trying out a chemical peel on my face. “No,” I replied. Looks of shock consumed their faces and one said, “That’s weird.” The other attempted to whisper to her, “I accidentally did the highest level of acidity.”

 

A few years later, Beaner was working elsewhere – sans a eye lift – and I received a call from the plastic surgeon’s office reminding me of my Botox appointment. I hadn’t made a Botox appointment, but Oreggano and I decided we should spend a day making prank calls to people reminding them of various appointments and consultations. I love a good prank.

 

Which is why I knew I could not turn down the invitation to their 10 year anniversary/holiday party. Beaner and I went together and quickly found we were the only people there, besides the caterers, who had not had work done. Well, Beaner did have her former boss, when he was her boss, give her a boob job, but who hasn’t done that?

 

The party had wine, food, product samples, and more plastic than:

Barbie

a credit card company

a Tupperware party

Cher

 

One woman had so much work done on her face, it appeared her eyes might never close again. “You know the phrase ‘sleep with one eye open’?” I rhetorically asked Beaner and then said, “Pretty sure she sleeps with both eyes open. No way those things close.” We made a few more observations, enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine, took some photos in the exam room when they weren’t looking – or maybe they were, so hard to tell – then left. Next stop: doorbell ditch Mia Momma and My Pops. The pranks never stop, thus, you best sleep with one eye open….or two, if you must.

 

After attending the Repeal Day party, and pretty much drinking a fifth in honor of December 5th, I realized very few people are familiar with this incredibly important day in American history. On this day in 1933, Prohibition was repealed, the 21st Amendment to the Constitution was ratified (ironic since the legal drinking age in the States is 21), and numerous people were able to legally imbibe again.This may not be a big deal for some, but it’s a pretty big deal for me and anyone else who enjoys a good distillery.

 

Also a big deal, is the fact that I was asked to be the dealer at a Blackjack table at the party. Is it a coincidence that Blackjack is also known as 21? I bet not.  Being that most of my gambling is limited to dating and purchasing wine based on the label,  I am most likely the least qualified individual to deal cards. My lack of qualifications became painfully clear when I attempted to shuffle the cards. Ultimately, I ended up outsourcing this task – very American of me. Thinking back, I realized I didn’t burn and turn (throw the top card in a discard pile), but I did take my turn having a pickleback shot and it burned a bit.

 

The winnings were good when I was dealing and the players were happy. How could they not be? I didn’t know the rules and believed everything they told me about the game. In addition, instead of insurance I promised everyone ObamaCare. I truly believe I gave dealing my best shot (and took a few shots while doing it). I’d even go so far as to say I was a big hit. Or was it a bust? I can’t stand all of the new terms, thus, I’m going to split.

Tree invited me to join him for a National Repeal Day party, “It starts at eight. Oh, and you can dress up in 20s attire if you want.” “You had me at ‘dress up in 20s attire.’ I’ll head home to get ready. I think I’ve got a flapper dress,” I replied. “Any chance you have two?” he asked.

 

Sadly, he opted against wearing a dress with me. Last time he did so, he ended up ditching the (wedding) dress to go to the loo and then never returned. Runaway Bride, literally.  So, with him in his fedora, dapper vest, dress shirt, slacks and fur coat, we decided to enjoy a glass of wine at my house. “Cheers to us! Is there anything else to cheers to? No,” I toasted and then noticed my flapper dress had risen up, exposing my slip and thigh. I attempted to capture the moment on film and Tree decided to do so as well. “We are so histper thanksgiving,” he told me and then said, “My friend keeps asking me why I put hash tags on all of my pictures. What she doesn’t understand is that I’m very popular on instagram.” “New hashtag – we should use it on everything! #imverypopularoninstagram,” I suggested.

 

We hopped in the car and started driving to our destination. I caught a glimpse of me in the mirror and made an observation, “I’m not sure I like my hair short.” “You’re wearing a man’s mullet wig, I don’t think that is a fair assessment,” Tree advised. “Good point,” I said and, as we pulled up to the light we both started singing and dancing for the audience of cars around us. None of them seemed to mind the wig or the singing and dancing.

 

Once we arrived at the bar we decided to celebrate the repeal and our constitutional rights by enjoying some bourbon. We took a seat in the corner and immediately noticed a lot of people were looking our way. “Have you noticed everyone is looking at us?” I asked Tree and then added, “They must recognize us from instagram.” “I’m very popular on instagram,” he quipped.

Having been under the weather for some time, Tree has been longing for a milkshake. He asked several people – his mom, a potential suitor, and FatGirl – to bring him one, all to no avail. As he spoke with me about this dire situation, I advised him he need not wait any longer.

 

I arrived at his place with a candy cane milkshake and we got caught up. Some might think we don’t have a lot to catch up on, especially since we just ‘caught up’ yesterday, but we have a lot going on.

 

Relationship choices were one of today’s topics, specifically, how some people choose to be with others who aren’t as ‘perfect’ as them so that they always look better. “I don’t know about that. I want to be the only perfect one, but I want the person I am with to be the perfect one too,” Tree told me. “You’re a hot mess and I mean that as a compliment,” I told him. “Oh, I know. That reminds me of a video I want to show you. I love youtube. I would totally marry it if I could,” he said. In response, and in unison,  I said, “Because it is fuckin’ fantastic,” and he said, “Because it is fuckin’ cool.”

 

Once his laptop died he decided to show me how to use my new phone. “Siri is awesome,” he said and then showed me a few tricks with her – some worked, some didn’t. “Let me give it a whirl,” I said. “Please call me Grigio Girl.” “From now on I’ll call you Greasy Oh Girl,” Siri replied. Tree laughed, I tried it again, and Siri replied the same. “Let me try it,” Tree said. Same response. “She’s a good time. Even better when you’re drunk,” Tree said and added, “Thanks for coming by tonight Greasy Oh Girl. I had a great time and we weren’t even drinking.” “Surprisingly, we weren’t. No need, we’re both perfect – alone and collectively,” I told him then asked Siri, “How long will Tree and I be friends?” She asked if I wanted her to check the web for answer. If she does, I hope she starts with youtube.

I woke up this morning as I often do, asleep on the couch. Although I don’t watch a lot of television, I do like movies from the library and last night, after decorating the tree while listening to Christmas albums by Roger Whittaker and The Carpenters, I decided to watch Freaky Friday, circa 1976. Nothing but current hits at my place.

 

Speaking of ‘hits,’ lately, Tree and I have had several discussions about dating and relationships. Each time, he has mentioned his passion for cuddling. “Sounds like a hot flash waiting to happen,” I told him. “I love cuddling. Is that too much to ask? That I just want to cuddle?” he asked. “It sounds like it is, but you’re asking the wrong person,” I replied and added, “When it comes to sex and relationships, I am much more like a boy than a girl.” “I’ve noticed. What is up with that? I’m like the girl and you’re like the boy,” he told me. “Genius! We should do a modern day remake slash twist of Freaky Friday, sans Lindsay Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis. We can call it Tranny Tuesday! I’ll change into you and you can change into me. It will be awesome!” I excitedly advised. Not having seen the 1976 or 2003 films, Tree did not entirely understand the concept or share my excitement.

 

Wanting to ensure we transition correctly, I had to watch Freaky Friday. I turned it on at midnight and, approximately 95 minutes later, fell asleep wishing I could really trade places with someone who didn’t work. Being that I couldn’t, I started my Manic Monday the same way I start most of my days – going into work after 8, emphasis on ‘after.’

 

 

It’s been a while since Can’t Be Bothered and I have chatted, so we set a Skype date. Like most of my communication devices, my Skype has been shite as of late. Thus, my video and voice were choppy. “You sound like you’re rapping,” she told me. “It’s the rapper upgrade on Skype. Very expensive,” I rapped. “You look like one of those pictures you make of people using little pieces of paper and glue,” she told me and added, “This may not work. I have an easier time understanding the non-English speaking Chinese women at the office.” “I’ve heard that before. How about I just message you what I’m saying and move my hands and mouth a bit so it looks like we’re talking?” I suggested. She didn’t quite understand, so I messaged it to her. She would ask questions and I would reply via message. “This is awesome – it’s like Closed Captions. You should make your side of the convo your blog today,” she said. I replied with a “thumbs up.”

 

turn the heat down so i can hear you [12/2/12 9:26:59 AM]

 

we met some guys at a steakhouse [12/2/12 9:27:57 AM]

 

dressed nice, friday night, wine blending [12/2/12 9:27:59 AM]

 

gay, right? [12/2/12 9:28:23 AM]

 

we assume they are all gay [12/2/12 9:28:31 AM]

 

and invite them back – safe bet [12/2/12 9:28:39 AM]

 

krystal and reggan are married [12/2/12 9:28:47 AM]

 

yes. handsome. good dressers. [12/2/12 9:28:55 AM]

 

and working on a film [12/2/12 9:29:15 AM]

 

they need a barn to burn [12/2/12 9:29:31 AM]

 

i offer my shed [12/2/12 9:29:41 AM]

 

it won’t work too close to homes [12/2/12 9:29:45 AM]

 

chickens [12/2/12 9:29:51 AM]

 

power lines [12/2/12 9:29:57 AM]

 

damn [12/2/12 9:30:04 AM]

 

gnomes [12/2/12 9:30:17 AM]

 

i mention costumes [12/2/12 9:30:25 AM]

 

they want to see my box [12/2/12 9:30:28 AM]

 

of costumes [12/2/12 9:30:32 AM]

 

totally gay, right? [12/2/12 9:30:40 AM]

 

one guy puts on a muumuu [12/2/12 9:30:54 AM]

 

and asks me to put on a one-piece footed pajama [12/2/12 9:30:58 AM]

 

i do [12/2/12 9:31:26 AM]

 

i hadn’t been shaving for some time [12/2/12 9:31:36 AM]

 

but went ahead and changed in front of him [12/2/12 9:31:40 AM]

 

major muff hanging out [12/2/12 9:32:47 AM]

 

so we step outside to look at the barn, i of course, not wanting to ruin my footed pajamas, don some wellies [12/2/12 9:32:53 AM]

 

it’s a no go [12/2/12 9:32:57 AM]

 

but he likes the hammock [12/2/12 9:33:03 AM]

 

will this hold two? [12/2/12 9:33:09 AM]

 

we can try [12/2/12 9:33:13 AM]

 

it did [12/2/12 9:33:23 AM]

 

totally makes a move on the major muff [12/2/12 9:33:44 AM]

 

i am zipped to the gill [12/2/12 9:33:51 AM]

 

its a one-piece [12/2/12 9:33:59 AM]

 

we just kept making out [12/2/12 9:34:54 AM]

 

he stays the night [12/2/12 9:35:02 AM]

 

total high school action [12/2/12 9:35:09 AM]

 

it was awesome [12/2/12 9:35:13 AM]

 

he did my hair [12/2/12 9:35:20 AM]

 

just the back of it [12/2/12 9:36:06 AM]

 

i couldn’t come the rat out of the back in the morning [12/2/12 9:36:19 AM]

 

*comb [12/2/12 9:36:33 AM]

 

you are so gay [12/2/12 9:36:36 AM]

 

you did my hair [12/2/12 9:36:47 AM]

 

he liked that we thought they were gay [12/2/12 9:36:49 AM]

 

but they’re not [12/2/12 9:37:49 AM]

 

the next week i picked him up from his hotel room [12/2/12 9:37:56 AM]

 

this is a test of the emergency broadcast system [12/2/12 9:38:01 AM]

 

the broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with the FCC and other authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency [12/2/12 9:38:05 AM]

 

The rest, well, that’s a closed door, not closed captions, conversation.

Beaner and I were at Mia Mamma’s house the other night and decided to look for her photo album. As we scoured the closets we found a lot of memorabilia specific to Contestant #56, however, only found some mug shots of Beaner and the rest of our family (everyone but My Pops) who got braces in the eighties. “You really can’t find your photo album? What about your box of nuggets?” Mia Mamma asked. “I think I have a small box of stuff at my house. Maybe,” Beaner said, sadly.

 

I, on the other hand, found several gems – my photo album, wedding dress, wedding picture, books, and some writing projects I completed when I was 11; one of which was titled, When I Am “25”. Being that it was so spot on, I thought I’d share it .

 

When I am twenty-five I’ll probably be a housewife, that is if I get married. I’ll be cleaning the house, scrubbing the floor, and doing the dishes all day long. After I did all that I’d have to get dinner ready. For dinner that night we’d end up having Swanson’s TV dinner because my mother is still teaching me to cook big gourmet dinners. After we eat dinner we’d go somewhere like Branigan’s or Snelgrove’s. But until then I’m going to live my life “One day at a time.”

 

I didn’t end there – I continued with a poem and a mathematical calculation.

 

When I am twenty-five I’ll probably be a housewife

When I am twenty-five I’ll probably have a busy life

When I am twenty-five I’ll probably only own one knife

When I am twenty-five I’ll probably be a housewife

Since I’m 11 now that means I have (25 – 11 = 14) 14 years to go. (I better have fun while I’m still young!)

 

The feedback I received from my teacher on this insightful writing project was, “Very good!” Although  I wasn’t married when I was 25, I did eat Swanson’s occasionally (Mia Mamma is still teaching me how to cook things), I cleaned, scrubbed the floor, did dishes, and definitely owned one knife. Looks like I’m about as ‘psychic’ as the psychic in Manhattan. Wonder what I’ll be doing twenty years from now….maybe I’ll be a housewife.