Category: blog

Within minutes of realizing Ice Cream Man didn’t record my snoring and, more importantly, his phone was missing, we had checked the entire house, his car and called the cab company. “Is it possible that it fell on the ground when we exited the cab?” I asked. “Maybe,” he replied sullenly.

 

I immediately called Live Longer to ask her to check the street. I would have put the message out to the cyber world, but she probably would have just ‘liked’ it. “I think I see something in the leaves. Any chance it has a black case?” she asked. “Yes, yes,” I said excitedly. “Oh wait, there is a blue cab coupon on it. Would that be his?” she asked. “That would for sure be his,” I told her. One item found, several more to go.

 

We decided the best way to find Sleepless’ hand sanitizer, my keys and any other items we’d left behind, was to get out there and start looking, right after we had brunch. As we walked to the car we made our first discovery, only it wasn’t ours and it wasn’t legal. On the sidewalk was a small bag with a white substance inside. “Pretty sure that’s cocaine,” I told Sleepless and Ice Cream Man. “Somebody’s going to be pretty mad about losing that,” Sleepless said. If anyone could empathize about losing things, we could.

 

We met Live Longer for breakfast, told her about our drug find, and she said, “A lot of weird things out there. I found a bottle of hand sanitizer when I was looking for the phone. “You did?!?!” Sleepless couldn’t contain herself. “That’s mine! I can’t believe you found it. Did you bring it?” “No, I left it on the rocks,” Live Longer replied.

 

Also on the rocks, were our Bloody Marys. After a night like ours – hitting the floor, walking for miles (one anyway), hypothermia, snoring from various orifices, and losing everything but our virginity (we lost that years ago) – we needed a drink. After a drink, maybe two, we continued on our journey to find things. Sadly, the camera battery and lipliner were lost forever. The keys, however, were found. Four out of six items found, especially considering the circumstances, were pretty good odds. Add to that the finding of something we didn’t lose, put us at a nearly 90% return rate. Good odds for sure.

Having been friends for some time, Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I are not strangers to spending a lot of time together. We’re also not strangers to sharing the bed. Don’t get any crazy ideas, there’s nothing sexual about it and, after I tell you about a night in the sack with us, you’ll understand why.

 

We stopped at a fast food Mexican restaurant on the way home and decided to eat our food, in bed, while enjoying a glass of wine and A Night At The Roxbury. Sleepless, who was in the middle of the bed, reached over, wiped some burrito juice off my shirt and told us, “I lost my hand sanitizer night.” “I’m surprised we came home with anything,” I replied, now knowing that in addition to losing my keys I had lost my camera battery and a ridiculously expensive lipliner. Eventually, the hypothermia had left our bodies, the food had warmed them, and we all fell asleep.

 

I woke up in the morning to find Sleepless was no longer in the bed and Ice Cream Man was fast asleep.  I got out of bed, found Sleepless in the other room, and we reviewed photos and facebook exchanges from the night before. “This explains so much,” I told her and added, “Especially the bruises.” “Did you sleep well?” she asked. “I did, thanks for asking,” I replied. “I’m pretty sure I held you all night. I woke up with my arm around and it hurt, so I’m guessing it is because my arm was in that position all night,” she told me. “That was nice of you. Thanks,” I said.

 

Ice Cream Man woke up and immediately posed a question, “Do you know why that fan is on?” “No,” I replied. “Because you were snoring so loud I couldn’t sleep,” he advised. “Really? Me? I had no idea I snore,” I told him. “I would have recorded it but my phone was in the other room,” he replied. “I seriously had no idea I snore,” I said, still in shock of this news. “It’s ok, she farts in her sleep,” he said looking at Sleepless and then said, “It’s so cute.” “Some people snore with their nose, some people snore with their butt,” I advised.

 

Ice Cream Man then made a very sad realization, his phone was missing. Between my keys, Sleepless’ hand sanitizer and Ice Cream Man’s phone, we’re lucky we still had our dignity. Or did we?

Within minutes of walking out the door of the burlesque/sketch cabaret venue, Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I knew we were in trouble. None of our friends were there to give us a ride, cab companies weren’t answering their phones and two creepy guys – one of whom looked like Buffalo Bill (Silence of the Lambs) – were offering us a ride in the shell of their truck. We respectfully declined the latter and began walking home. Just as my boots weren’t made for standing, they weren’t made for walking.

 

We continued to call cab companies, to no avail. The creepy guys, also to no avail, stayed on our trail, offering us a ride. We decided to put a message out to the cyber world/universe about our need for transportation and the fact that hypothermia might be setting in. Live Longer, who was already at home in bed, ‘liked’ it. “Unbelievable, she just liked it. Just liked it,” Sleepless told Ice Cream Man and I while shaking her head. Not to be deterred, we kept walking. It was the best way to stay warm.

 

About one mile and what seemed like hours later we were able to hail a cab and head to our cars which were parked at Live Longer’s house. Luckily, Ice Cream Man had coupons, so the cab ride only cost us $5. Not so lucky, was the fact that my car and house keys weren’t in my bag. Turns out they fell out when I dropped my bag, like it was hot, at the venue. Being that the venue was closed, Sleepless and Ice Cream Man offered to let me stay at their place. I took the offer and, just as I was attempting to get in their car, the door slammed on my hand. Shocked, I screamed, and Live Longer, still warm in her bed, made a reply on our ‘ride’ status, “I here you u.”

 

Social networking didn’t get us a ride or save our lives, but it made for an interesting day after.

If you want to class up an event, invite Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I. We’ve got costumes, dance moves, no inhibitions and coupons.

 

Wise to this information, Live Longer invited us and several others to attend a burlesque/sketch cabaret show. Our evening started simply and elegantly at Live Longer’s home with cocktails and appetizer. As the witching hour approached, we grabbed our feathered masks and headed to the venue. Knowing we would be drinking, a lot, Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I opted to take a ride from That’s Not Chinese and Unfazed. Knowing they would leave earlier than others, we knew we would need to figure out a ride home. Being that we were nowhere near ready to go home, we bought a round of drinks and decided to worry about it later.

 

With our drinks in hand, and possibly left unattended at times, we tooled around the venue, checking out fetish rooms, snakes, tarantulas and other oddities. We also spent quite a bit of time in the photo booth and hitting the dance floor – literally. By we, I may just mean me. For whatever reason, I prefer to blame my boots, my body spent about as much time on the floor as it did vertical. By the end of the night, we had left the dance floor for something bigger and better – the stage. As we busted some crazy moves, we also busted a few blood vessels – hitting the floor, over and over again. At one point, Live Longer threw down a move so intense she found herself horizontal on the stage. The audience responded with a loud ‘whoa;’ sadly, however, nobody responded to any of our moves with a tip. Alas, when we finally exited the stage, the tip jar looked like our drink glasses – completely empty.

 

It was at this point that our next adventure – getting home – began.

Sleepless, Calling The Dog and I carpooled to a funeral. With us, was one of Sleepless’ male coworkers.male coworkers. As we made our way we discussed the idea of making donations to charitable causes, in lieu of flowers. “Can I just make a donation to myself?” Calling The Dog asked. “Why not? I think you’re a good cause,” Sleepless replied.

 

“Speaking of causes, did you hear it is legal to frack now?” I asked. “Get the frack out of town,” Calling The Dog quipped. “I know, totally fracked up,” I replied. “Mother frackers,” Calling The Dog followed up. Sleepless’ coworker was loving this conversation. “This is awesome. It’s like I’m in the car with a bunch of Cylons from Battlestar Galactica,” he told us, happier than a kid in a candy shop. “What the frack are you talking about?” I asked. “You didn’t know frack is a swear word on Battlestar Galactica?” he asked. “No frackin’ way. I had no frackin’ idea,” Calling The Dog told him.

 

Not wanting his dream ride to come to an abrupt end, when we dropped him off we continued to speak Cylon, “Get the frack out of the car.” “Thanks so much for the ride,” he said with a Cheshire grin. “Yeah, yeah, frack off,” Calling The Dog told him and, as the dream ride drove away, we both said in unison, “Frackin’ funerals.”

Respectable Professional and I have a lot in common. We like wine, good food and friends and we’re sexy…clothed. While enjoying some time together the other day we were discussing recent intimate encounters. “I feel like I’m sexy clothed, but unclothed, I’m not so sure,” she told me. “I hear ya,” I replied, thinking about the coupon for laser treatments.

 

A few days later I stopped by That’s Not Chinese’s house and told her I might be meeting up with a boy. “Did you trim that shit?” she asked. “No, I’m waiting on a coupon,” I replied. “That’s it, let’s go to my bathroom right now – I’ve got a razor,” she advised me. “I am not shaving with you and your razor,” I adamantly told her. “You have given up. Seriously, given up. You might as well start wearing sweats,” she said and then looked down at her sweats and started laughing. “Really?” I replied. “Hey, stop it. I cut off the elastic at the bottom to make them capri style.” “They’re still sweats,” I said. “You still need to take care of that shit,” she advised and asked, in between massive laughter, “Do you want me to go get my pruners?”

 

As the night with That’s Not Chinese progressed it was obvious the pubic service announcement had gotten her attention. “I bet you’ve got your own Grey Gardens down there,” she told me. “Everybody loves Grey Gardens,” I replied. “This isn’t Florida and not everyone loves Bush Gardens,” Unfazed piped in. “You know what you are? You’re an Egg McMuffin,” That’s Not Chinese interjected and continued, “Yes, an Egg McMuffin. When the police catch you they’ll most likely take a muff shot.” “They’re not going to catch me because my family is with the muffia,” I fired back. “I can’t take you serious right now, you’re wearing a grandma house dress,” she, the capri style sweats fashionista said to me. “It is not a grandma house dress. It is a vintage jammie jack,” I replied. “No. It looks like you just shortened somebody’s grandma’s robe and decided to wear it as a jacket,” she told me, “Now smile for your muff shot.”

 

So much for my sexy clothed theory.

Public Service Announcements, often referred to as PSAs, are free media messages created for the public to increase awareness about a certain issue or concern to, ultimately, create a change for the positive.

 

A Pubic Service Announcement, though completely different, has a few similarities. This announcement is not typically disseminated by the media and ‘private’ parties are usually the only individuals privy to the ‘announcement.’ Regardless of whether or not the message is public or private, if you get a pubic service announcement, you should pay attention. You’ll know when you see it. It’s that look of shock on the face of a friend or lover when when they see your bikini line, or lack of, from across the room.

 

If that isn’t message enough that something needs to be done, then their actual messages to you should create change. “There’s an online coupon for laser. $99 for a small area, $219 for a large area,” was the message I received from The Responsible One. “What are you trying to say?” I asked. “You’re going to need to save up $219 dollars,” was her reply.

 

Others have been more subtle, like That’s Not Chinese, “You know I do laser. You only have to go in every so often. It can be expensive, but it’s worth it.” She’s probably right. Service begets service. That said, I’m planning to schedule a service so I can, hopefully and eventually, get serviced – both would be positive changes.

When we invited the boys to my house the other night, we really didn’t know them – a fact that is probably shocking to some and expected by others. What we did know about them, however, is they liked wine and wanted to burn a barn. Being that I had both wine and a barn/shed, it seemed like a perfect fit.

 

To add a little credibility to the party, I invited a respectable professional. Thus, while some of us tried on costumes and used vulgarities on the stoop, Respectable Professional stayed calm, cool, collected, and advised the boys, “I am a respectable professional.” “We do actually have professional jobs,” one of them told her later in the evening. After which, I showed them that I, too, am a respectable internet professional – r.i.p.

 

I did this by introducing them to my high quality stoop ed videos; to include the polygamy video Sleepless and I made – a video that is resting in peace on my computer instead of on the world wide web. This is probably best considering Sleepless is currently in the process of becoming a respectable professional.

 

I have no interest in being a respectable professional.  Being unprofessional is my preference and it is pretty hard to maintain my primary objective – being an asshole – if I’m respectable. Thus, until my name plate is a grey concrete slab that reads “RIP,” I will continue saying what I’m and saying and doing what I’m doing.

 

The boys, however, truly were professionals; and respectable professionals at that. They opted against burning my barn on account of the chickens, power lines and human lives. A nice gesture on their part but, if they had gone through with the burn, I had fully intended to go snag a neighbor’s Halloween/R.I.P. tombstone decor, personalize it, and put it in place of anything that died in the burn. It’s Halloween – that time of year when the costumes are out, candy bags are ready and before you know it you bit into an apple with a razor blade in it, to which I say, “Rest in peace.”

If you’ve ever applied for a job with the federal government (or, now, read my blog), you know that KSA stands for knowledge, skill and ability. These are very important to the feds because they believe KSAs demonstrate qualifying experience, education and training. Thus, they are quite particular about the definition and interpretation of each. As a result, if you ever apply to work for the feds, you quickly develop the knowledge (K) that the process is extremely long; master the skill (S) of manipulating the application; and, after multiple drug tests, develop the ability (A) to undilute your urine. Yes, undilute. Apparently, drinking too much water is suspect. At the end of the application and interview process, it becomes clear that the KSAs aren’t quite as important as the background checks. So, regardless of your KSAs, your spending habits and other ‘habits’ could result in you not getting the job. At this point, you will move quickly to a place of KMA – that stands for kiss my ass.

 

While helping MiniMe sew a Halloween costume, Live Longer offered to sinch the sleeves. “I thought you couldn’t sew,” I said. “I’m Asian. It’s gotta be in my genes. Want a pedicure?” she replied and added, “I can say that, I’m Asian.” We then discussed different jobs often worked by Asians in America and the fact that some Asians aren’t respected by other Asians. “Like the JOJs,” she told us. “The what?” Tree asked. “JOJs – Just off jets. They’re the ones who get off the planes wearing all the designer clothes and carrying Prada bags. We don’t really like them,” she advised. She quickly finished sinching the sleeve and returned the dress to MiniMe. “Wow, you’re fast,” I observed. “I’m Asian,” she replied.

 

Live Longer will most likely never pursue a career as a tailor or cosmetologist but, should she choose to do so, she’s got the KSAsians.

Everybody’s got a sexy suit – that outfit you don that screams to people, “game one.” For those who don’t have a sexy suit, there are other options; for example, my costume box.

 

Within minutes of returning from winemaking, me and a few others were in my basement selecting a little something special to wear. One of the gentleman from the class chose a muumuu and then handed me the footed pajamas, “I think you should wear this.” Being that I’d worn them before, and they were relatively comfortable, I obliged.

 

We returned to the stoop in our sexy suits and found that our friends were completely unfazed by our attire. “Aren’t those comfortable?” Oreggano said upon noticing the muumuu and then continued her conversation with BioMom.

 

As the evening progressed, I provided muumuu man a tour of my backyard. “Will two people fit in there?” he asked as we walked by the hammock. “Probably,” I said. A few minutes later, I was on the hammock, in my footed pajamas tucked into a pair of wellies, lying next to a man in a muumuu. Justin Timberlake would be proud because we, clearly, brought sexy back.