Category: blog

Being the wine connoisseurs we are, BioMom, Oreggano and I decided to participate in a wine pairing/making class at a local steakhouse. Considering none of us really eat red meat, this was a bold choice, but were suckers (literally) for wine.

 

We arrived to find a quaint room, set up for 12, equipped with loads of wine, multiple wine glasses, pipettes, graduated cylinders and spit buckets. The sommeliers encouraged us to wet our palettes with the various wines (chardonnay, merlot, cabernet sauvignon and ‘mystery grape’ – malbec). As we did so, the servers brought us tapas plants ranging from vegetables to prime rib.

 

In addition, the sommeliers encouraged us to use our pipettes, as opposed to pouring the wine. BioMom was all over this concept. As she was perfecting her next 30 ml batch of wine I was loving the ribs. “This rub is so good. I want you to just run your finger across this rub and then stick your finger in your mouth,” I told her. She did and, apparently when I wasn’t looking, she also licked the rib. “You should really lick it. I don’t mind,” I said. “I just did,” she replied. “Wow. It’s like we just French kissed a cow,” I said while licking the rib again. “Look, she is trying to be a serious chemist and you are licking beef,” Oreggano confronted me. “Well you watched,” I replied – it was my only defense. “I’m not going to lie,” BioMom said while transferring wine with her pipette, ” I put some in my mouth and almost swallowed.” “Sorry about us,” Oreggano told the sommelier and then leaned back to pour some wine from the graduated cylinder into her mouth.

 

As the class came to a close, we were asked to name and present our best wine blend. “Mix first and name second. You never want to chase your name,” the sommelier advised. Torn between ‘Swirl Sniff Swallow’ and ‘New Stoop,’ BioMom and Oreggano advised I select the latter in honor of my new stoop. “Mine is ‘The Consuela,’ not to be confused with the ‘Rosa,'” BioMom proudly informed us. “Rose or Rosa?” I asked. “It doesn’t matter,” she replied.

 

In the end, it really didn’t matter because The Consuela and New Stoop did not win the new wine contest. Instead, Oreggano took home a $50 gift card for her superb wine blend, The Double Down.’ To celebrate, we invited everyone from the class to the new stoop where we doubled down on any and all liquor in the house and, just as I knew would happen at some point, christened the stoop with a nice new merlot finish. Swirl, sniff, swallow, spill. We did and we will again, very soon.

I used to keep a diary. Years ago. I started in the 80s and continued to do so, off and on – sometimes off for a year or so – until the 90s.

 

Every now and again I read through my diaries. Today was one of those now and again moments. Surprisingly, I had written in my diary 27 years ago yesterday. The entry read, “Today was fun.” I didn’t write again until November 25, the following year. Fun is exhausting.

 

What’s interesting is today was a lot like yesterday, 27 years ago – fun. What will be even more interesting is if I end up making out with someone, who is faking an Australian accent, a year from this November 25. Only one way to find out – keep reading the blog.

 

Today was fun….time for a nap.

Every now and again Progressive tolerates the company of Sleepless and I at lunch. I think this is because he is our friend.

 

As our friend, he is patient with us. For example, when Sleepless ordered a pizza she asked, “Are there onions on it?” “Yes,” the server replied. “Will you please take them off?” Sleepless politely asked. “Instead of taking them off, why don’t you just not have them on it in the first place,” Progressive wisely suggested. “I think you should have them put the onions on and then take them off. You should probably get mushrooms too, but then have them removed,” I added. She giggled and continued to enjoy her beverage.

 
Prior to bringing us our entrees, they brought out a salad. We told the server that none of us had a salad. A few minutes later they returned and handed it to me, “You said bleu cheese dressing, right?” “Oh, yeah, I did. I wondered why you asked about that.”

 

As we caught Progressive up on the details of our life he advised us, “You need to turn the Fs into As.” We were both pretty baffled. “Aucker? Auck off? Mother Aucker? I don’t get it,” I told him. “Me neither,” said Sleepless as she enjoyed her pizza, sans onions. “Fs into As – friends into acquaintances,” he said with confirmation. “Oh, yes, Fs into As. Got it. Good idea,” I said. After this lunch with us, we may soon be As in his book.

While chatting with my contractor he reminded me of a really fancy and functional fashion statement: coveralls. “My grandpa used to wear them all of the time. He’d be working in the garage with it zipped all the way to the top and then, zipppppp, shirt and tie underneath. Instant presentation.”

 

Instant presentation is important. Haz Mat crews do it. Mechanics do it. Strippers do it. Even grandpas do it. Makes me wonder, “Why am I not doing it?” I’ve got a perfectly lovely pair of coveralls sitting folded in my closet, just waiting to expose my real outfit. Yet, it just sits on the shelf.

 

Unfortunately, I often miss important fashion statements, such as tear away snap pants, because I’m too busy trying to look ‘professional.’ In the meantime, I still end up exposed.

 

A few years ago, I was wearing a skirt with tights and boots (and a shirt, of course), grabbed my laptop bag from my car, walked across the street and up four floors of my office building before someone advised me that my laptop bag had pulled my skirt up in the back.

 

There was another time (could have been today), when I wore a button-up shirt and the middle button popped open as I was disseminating paperwork to coworkers. I, wisely, used the paperwork to conceal my Janet Jackson halftime moment.

 

Thus, with or without coveralls and tear away snap pants, I’m all about instant presentation.

I’m not one who is superstitious or believes things happen for a reason. I do, however, believe in good music.

 

A while back I called That’s Not Chinese and, instead of a ring tone, I received an automated message suggesting I enjoy the music while my party was reached. When That’s Not Chinese finally answered I thanked her for the lovely song and asked if she got a lot of hang ups. “Why would I get hang ups?” she asked. “Either because people are just calling to listen to that song or they can’t stand listening to the song,” I advised her.

 

I’m not sure what people did before ringback tones and hold music. I’m the first to admit that there are times when I’m actually disappointed to be taken off of hold because I’m enjoying the music so much. Today, however, I changed my tune – literally.

 

I called a local mental health provider and, after speaking with the receptionist for a minute, she placed me on hold. It didn’t take long for me to tune into the lyrics of the hold music, “If you could be so kind to help me find my mind,” “Did I hear that right?” I thought to myself. The song continued, “…I lost my mind.” “Yep,” I confirmed aloud, quickly realized I was talking to myself, and then thought to myself, “Am I being paranoid?” Maybe. Or, maybe, just like on American Idol, somebody made a poor song choice.

Sometimes, when people drink, they do or say things they don’t remember. This recently happened to That’s Not Chinese. While at the wedding of Ice Cream Man and Sleepless, That’s Not Chinese invited Tree to brunch at her house. Unfortunately, she didn’t remember. Nonetheless, she grudgingly agreed to keep her drunken word.

 

As the date got closer, I inquired about inviting a few others. Being that she didn’t recall inviting anyone to brunch, she wasn’t too keen on this concept. Live Longer, however, loves hosting events and offered to do so at her house. Thus, one day prior to the actual event, Live Longer created an event, ‘Brunch is for A-holes.’ That’s Not Chinese and Tree were, of course, invited.

 

Being a major a-hole, I immediately RSVPed. Sleepless, Tree, BioMom, FatGirl, Oper and Oreggano soon followed suit. Sadly, That’s Not Chinese did not RSVP, which we didn’t understand. We weren’t (too) drunk when we made the impromptu invite, but maybe she thought we were, or maybe she was drunk and doesn’t remember receiving the invite….hmmm.

 

Morning of the event, I returned to Live Longer’s house wearing what I had on when I left the previous evening – her nightgown. To dress it up a bit, I belted it. Why such attire? Hello, I’m an a-hole. Surprisingly, That’s Not Chinese and Tree didn’t show. Some who know them well might say their absence comes as no surprise, but since the brunch was specifically for a-holes, I really thought they would have attended, but then again, I’m an a-hole.

Bruiser loves hosting an evening with the girls. She also loves Halloween and dressing up like a witch. Being that it has been some time since the girls have met up at her house and Halloween is just around the corner, she decided to host “Dyslexic Halloween” today, October 13.

 

I have had my outfit in mind for some time, however, On My Terms was undecided up until the moment of the party. She sent me a picture of her options: a small witch hat on a headband or a large witch hat. She opted for the small hat and paired it with a dress she bought last Christmas. When she purchased the dress her niece asked, “Is that for Halloween?” It wasn’t but, based on that question, On My Terms thought it would be perfect for the occasion.

 

Live Longer is a lot like Bruiser and I, in that she likes to dress up. She was donning a long orange dress with a large black belt, grey streaks in her hair, a witch’s hat and make-up that would make Lady Bunny  and RuPaul jealous. “My husband thinks I look like a drag queen,” she told me and added, “I have been watching RuPaul’s Drag Race for tips on contouring,” she told me.

 

We arrived at Bruiser’s house to find it decorated to the max – cobwebs, spooky family photos (not to be confused with awkward family photos), pumpkins, skeletons, cauldrons and witches (‘real’ and fake). I made my witches brew (regular family friendly orange pineapple drink with vodka and dry ice added) for the witches with a sweet tooth and the rest of the crew drank red wine.

 

Pretty soon, wine was spilled. This wasn’t shocking to anyone, rather, expected – it’s a party. As Bruiser was grabbing something to clean it up, her dog swept in and lapped it up. He then proceeded to roll all around the area on which the wine spilled. “He’s just like us – doesn’t want to waste the wine,” Live Longer commented. “Your dog may be an alcoholic,” On My Terms advised Bruiser and added, “This would explain why he was abandoned when you found him.” “Maybe,” Bruiser said as she watched her dog in awe. “No, no. Not an alcoholic. A party animal, just like us bitches, I mean witches,” I replied, then refilled my cup of brew.

 

 

My friend is a serial monogamist. Last year, she ended a relationship, in which she was monogamist and her beau wasn’t, after having been in it for three decades. Three decades. That’s how long I have to work to be able to retire with full benefits. I’m not sure I can do it – 1) it seems like a lifetime and 2) I’m always trying to find  a way out or around it.

 

For my friend, ending the relationship was not like retiring, rather, it was like being laid off. No benefits, no pension. Just debt and the question, “Now what?” Her answer – online dating. This is not something I’ve dared or wanted to do. Sleepless and I have discussed me doing it so that we could make a reality TV show about it, but beyond that it has been something I’d do.

 

Fortunately, for my friend, online dating was fruitful for her, right away – she didn’t even have to date more than one guy. She met someone, started seeing him and, almost one year later, is still with him. “But I’m bored,” she advised me and added, “I really don’t think he is the one for me. Nice guy, but not the one. I want to end it, but I don’t really want to be alone. So, I’m hoping to have another prospect lined up soon. I’m not saying I would cheat on him – I would never do that. I just want to know that I’ll have an option when I end this. I’m a serial monogamist.” “I get it. I know a few other people just like you. They don’t cheat, but like a job, they’ve got another one lined up before terminating the current,” I replied. “Exactly,” she replied, looked around the restaurant and said, “Looks like he and I will be together at least one more night.”

Now that Ice Cream Man and Sleepless have made their relationship official – both by marriage and consummation – we decided to celebrate, again, at a fine Spanish restaurant. Also joining us for the celebration were Tree and FatGirl. Although FatGirl was at first hesitant about the restaurant (he had to drive at least ten miles out of his comfort zone), he liked that it was Spanish  because, “I’m Mexican….and Spanish.” “You just made that last part up,” Tree told him.

 

Utilizing my Spanish speaking skills, I read the menu items aloud and suggested we each pick something based on the best and longest Spanish title. I selected Solomillo De Cerdo Con Manzana Frita Y Salsa Agridulce De Frambuesas. FatGirl took one look at the menu, then looked to Sleepless for assistance, “Can you please translate for me?” I advised him, the Spanish Mexican, that the English translation was printed directly below the Spanish. He giggled and again asked for Sleepless’ assistance. He ended up ordering the sea bass, however, refused to attempt to say it in Spanish, Lubina. “I speak Spanish. Sí,” he told us and added, “Sí bass.”

 

When his sí bass arrived, he offered for others to enjoy. “No. I don’t eat endangered fish,” Tree advised him. “Endangered? Well I better eat it while I can,” FatGirl replied with a giggle. “Does anyone want to dip in my sauce?” Sleepless asked and added, “We should all dip in each others sauces.” “I like that idea. Ice Cream Man, can I dip in your creamy white sauce?” FatGirl asked. Always culturally and politically correct, our little (pun intended) Spanish Mexican friend.

 

As the night continued, Jennifer Lopez became a topic of discussion; unsure as to why, other than the fact that FatGirl adores her. “I’ve even got her name tattooed on my ass,” he told us. “You do?” Sleepless asked in shock. FatGirl started to pull up his shirt, stuck his ass in the air and then said, “Just kidding. I just wanted everyone to look at my ass.” Ice Cream Man, who was only meeting FatGirl for the second time, continued to enjoy his white sauce and dark beverage, as if we weren’t even there. Very Dos Equis of him.

It’s no secret that on the days on which I’m not running late, I’m relatively on time. Relatively being the key word. Some believe timeliness is cultural and relative. Others believe it is a sign of respect. I, like many Native Americans, believe it is both. Life is a gift and is best lived ‘naturally,’ not rushing from one event to the other. As one study, Traditional Native American Cultures and Contemporary US Society, revealed, “Having patience, showing respect, and caring for others is of more importance than being ‘on time’ as measured by a clock.” Agreed.

 

That said, when I have an opportunity to attend a social event – especially one where the food and drinks are flowing – I typically arrive ‘just in time.’ The other night I had the privilege of attending an event honoring media. I arrived at about 6:30 (the time detailed on the invite) and was among the first to show. As we patiently waited for honorees to arrive, I showed respect to others in the room (by not taking their drinks) and caught up with Prime Rib and his wife.

 

Several hours later the room had pretty much cleared out. The only people remaining were me, Prime Rib, his wife, the band, event planners, the catering crew and a journalist who told us, “You invite a journalist to an event with free drinks and they’re always going to be the last to go.” We gave a cheers to that statement, finished our drinks and parted ways. ‘First to show, last to go,’ is a great motto, depending on the occasion. In some cases – work, family reunion, funerals – a better motto may be, ‘Last to show, first to go.’