Category: blog

I took Spanish in junior high, high school and college, pero, mi español es muy mal. I try to speak with some of the employees at my building, in hopes of improving my language skills, however, I typically only manage a few short sentences.

 

Me: “Hola. Como estas?”

Her: “Muy bien. Y tu?”

Me: “Bien, bien. Gracias.”

Her: “Cómo está su hija?”

Me: “Bien.” Cómo se dice, ‘She is doing well. This is her last year in college and then she’ll be a teacher.’?”

 

At this point my coworker usually breaks into English and our conversation turns into a Gibraltar newspaper article (where Spanglish is very common), or she teaches me one word out of the twenty, “Ah, maestro.” “Sí, maestro,” I reply. The conversation usually ends with a “Hasta luego,” her walking away giggling, and me saying to myself, “Ah, chingao. I’ve got to practice my Spanish more often.”

 

The fact that I struggle with learning, retaining and effectively speaking a second language gives me a huge level of respect for people who are bilingual. Especially those who learn a second (or third or fourth) language later in life. What I’ve found in many of those cases is that lost in translation are the adjectives or verbs we often use to talk around that which we are really thinking. What is found in translation, is honest, sincere communication sans malicious intent. I see this most often when texting with Maverik Midget King, His first language is French and he just recently learned English.

 

He sent me a picture of a body builder and I asked if he wanted to look like him. “I want lost my fat belly,” he replied. “I’m still trying to lose my baby fat from 41 years ago,” I told him. “For girls I love. I hate skinny. Your a perfect body!! I love!” was his response. “You are lovely to me – thank you,” I replied. “I love chobby,” was his next text to me. “Agreed. I’ll eat more cookies,” I text back. Perfect = chubby. If anyone else had said this to me, especially someone who spoke English as their primary language, I would think they were a douche (French word – I’m trying to learn that language too). Since he said it, as someone who is trying to learn a second language, I find the translation to be sweet, honest, and endearing – mon lapin doux, je suis heureux de vous trouver.

 

 

 

Several months ago, Passed The Sniff Test and I saw the trailer for Hysteria and knew we needed to see it. Unfortunately, we never did so while it was in the theater. Fortunately, it was released on DVD – right around the same time he started reading my blog again and posted a link on my facebook wall about a masturbation bar in Japan. With the link, he included this comment, “Two things you have blogged about extensively have now been combined!” I don’t write about drinking that often.

 

We watched the movie and, although it focused primarily on women’s ‘mental health’ and ‘home electrical appliances,’ it was really about women’s sexual liberation. Luckily, I was born during a time when being a woman was something Helen Reddy not only sang about – she roared. In fact, some might say it was her signature song. Around the same time, Ernie had a signature song, but I digress. In the eighties, Annie Lennox let everyone know, ‘Sisters are doin’ it for themselves.’ In the nineties, Salt-n-Pepa, not wanting to beat around the bush (or were they?), decided it was really time to liberate and encouraged millions to ‘talk about sex baby.’

 

Back to Ernie. By the 21st century, thirty plus years after Ernie’s signature song, there was a lot of buzz about a new rubber duckie. Like Ernie’s rubbie duckie, this one is waterproof, makes bathtime lots of fun, and a lot of people are very fond of it. Unlike Ernie’s rubber duckie, when you squeeze this duckie, it doesn’t quack, it vibrates. Causing people from all walks of life to sing, just like the Italian opera singer Hysteria, we all have our signature song.

 

 

Last month, when Sleepless and Ice Cream Man sent out their wedding celebration invitations for today (no, they’re not pregnant, yet…), they included a notation about attire. “Dress: Western elegant (Watch Dallas).” Most invitees found this to be a creative wardrobe challenge. Others just felt challenged and confused. “Dallas then or Dallas now?” “What is ‘Dallas‘?”

 

I immediately assessed my wardrobe and, though I had plenty to choose from, went shopping for a shimmery dress that would make Sue Ellen Ewing proud – if only I could have found a “Miss Texas” sash. In addition to shopping for me, I shopped for others and responded to several inquiries about attire. “What shoes should I wear?” “Are jeans OK?” I, of course, provided the most sound advice I could. “Boots. No heels, but lots of frills.” “Jeans, yes. Western = Wranglers. Western Elegant = Wranglers with a firm crease.”

 

By the time we were ready to go, we looked like J.R., Sue Ellen and Priscilla – sans shoulder pads. In pure Dallas style, we enjoyed cocktails while getting ready so, just like Sue Ellen, we were rearing to go at the celebration. We arrived to find Tree and FatGirl, in full Western Elegance, sipping on cocktails near the barn. Tree was donning black slacks, boots, black shirt and vest, black cowboy hat and, most importantly, a cream, hooded, fur coat. FatGirl was wearing a black satin shirt with white satin trim, boots and a black cowboy hat. Both men and women were in awe of their fashion statements. Leave it to the gays to make Brokeback Mountain a destination everyone wants to visit. Even Bobby Ewing would have a hard time being faithful (and straight) with these two cowboys in the house.

 

The bride and groom soon joined the party – taking most of the attention away from us. Damn. So J.R. of them. We were, however, happy to see them, as were the rest of the guests and joined in a magnificent celebration of their love – drinking, dining and dancing the night away. If you want to see just a taste of what we experienced, watch Dallas, season 2, episode 6. Or, season 6, episode 10. Or, season 12, episode 16. Better yet, just watch TMZ. There were so many cameras flashing that night, one was bound to be paparazzi.

 

 

With her wedding day upon her, Sleepless was not yet sure what borrowed item she should wear. “Can I borrow a pair of socks, just in case?” she asked. “Of course,” I replied and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to borrow a pair of my underwear again?” Sharing underwear, like using the loo in front of a friend or loved one, is one of many ways to take a relationship to another level.  Being that we’ve already done both, Sleepless opted to stick with the pair she purchased specifically for the wedding.

 

As Oper was doing Sleepless’ make-up, we were discussing how much work it takes to plan a wedding. “Why do you think I’ve only done it twice?” Oper asked. We laughed and I continued to look for a special piece of paper on which Sleepless could write her vows. I knew I’d found the perfect piece when I saw a used piece trimmed with fall leaves, mounting stickers where pictures used to be, and this text, “‘Fall’in’ in love…honey & me.” It went on to detail the date when and canyon where the missing pictures must have been taken. “I think this is perfect! Its even from October. October 1998, but still,” I told her. “Who is honey?” she asked. “My ex-husband,” I advised. “You mean the one guy you were married to that one time when you were married?””That’s the one,” I replied. Even if she didn’t wear my socks, this borrowed piece of history would be a great borrowed asset on her big day.

 

A few hours later, I was with Oreggano and Cream Of Tartar getting ready to for the wedding. As I prepped in their guest bathroom, Oreggano prepped in the master bathroom and Cream Of Tartar hung out in their bedroom. I was chatting with them about various matters and poked my head around their bedroom door to finish the conversation. To my surprise, Cream Of Tartar had moved from the bed and was sitting on the toilet, door wide open. “I pee sitting down,” he shouted out as I quickly retreated to the guest bathroom and Oreggano ran out of their room, laughing hysterically. “Pretty sure we just took this relationship to another level,” I told Cream Of Tartar.

While at work today I received a call about two kids who had runaway from a secure facility. “Do you have a description of the kids?” a reporter asked me. “We can’t share a description because they are minors,” I replied. “So who should people call if they see them?” “How will they know they saw them if they don’t know what they look like?” I asked and the description discussion came to a close.

 

Later, while at a ‘last hoorah’ for Sleepless and Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and I were chatting with several people we didn’t know. Many looked familiar to her, and they were there to celebrate the upcoming wedding, so she would ask, “Will you be at the wedding tomorrow?” “We weren’t invited,” was the response on more than one occasion. “I really think you should stop asking that question. Just thank them for celebrating with you,” I advised. “Good idea. I can’t believe this,” she replied.

 

A few minutes later, a former colleague of hers stopped by and bought us drinks in celebration of the big day. She didn’t ask him if he was coming to the wedding for two reasons. 1) She didn’t invite him, and 2) Our previous discussion. As he was celebrating with us, he told Sleepless he was pretty sure his friend went to college with Ice Cream Man’s sister, “She told me ‘He looks like a girl I know.'” “Wow,” Sleepless replied. That is a ‘minor’ detail we can and will share.

While enjoying an evening with friends, food and wine, we did what most do when they get together – talked about others. As we discussed people who often lack social skills, Live Longer told us about someone she knows who regularly struggles socially. “I kind of wonder if it because she is really a lesbian who hasn’t yet come out of the closet yet,” Live Longer pondered aloud. “So maybe not being able to be open about her sexuality causes her social problems?” I asked. “Yeah, either that or she is autistic,” Live Longer replied. “So she is either lesbian or autistic? That is awesome,” Oreggano quipped. “We always play the ‘gay, foreign, mormon’ game, we’ll have to add another category, ‘gay, foreign, mormon, autistic,'” I said. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m an asshole,” Live Longer told us. She and I have so much in common.

 

A little later, Bitchin’ Camaro decided to provide Kitchen Beautician a compliment, “I realize I may sound like an autistic lesbian, but you’ve got great lips.” “Thank you,” Kitchen Beautician said while giggling with her great lips. “Nothing wrong with that,” Bruiser said and added, “You can be straight and appreciate.” “I’m an asshole,” Live Longer said and took another sip of wine. I love Live Longer because, 1) she is hilarious and 2) I can be straight and appreciate.

It’s been a while since Rusty Rogue Rafael and I have chatted. The main reason for this is we live on different continents. Thanks to technology, we message each other occasionally and, every now and again, we video chat.

 

As I was tooling around my house this evening I received a message from him inviting me to video chat. I hopped online and we started chatting. After a while, he asked, “Have you got a boyfriend?” “No,” I replied. “No? What’s that on your chin? It looks like a bruise,” he said. “It’s a zit,” I replied. “Really?” “Yes, really. But let’s back up here. You thought I had a bruise on my chin, so you wanted to know if I had a boyfriend? An abusive one at that?” I said to him. “Well,” he started to say. “Well?!?! No. I do not have a boyfriend – most likely because of this zit on my chin,” I advised him.

 

We continued to chat and he continued to try and see past my blemish. I told him I had been messaging Maverik Midget King (also on another continent) and that he wants to get married. “To who?” Rusty Rogue Rafael asked. “To me,” I replied. “No, no, no. That would be like you’re both cheating on me. Honestly, it pains me.  I really don’t think I could handle that,” he said, holding his chest, and with sincere sadness in his voice and face. I didn’t promise him otherwise, instead, changed the subject.

 

Prior to ending the video chat, he asked, “Can you put your hand up and touch mine? Like in prison?” I did and then he said, “I’ll look forward to our next visit.” “In the meantime, send me letters,” I replied. I doubt I’ll get letters from him and it will probably be some time before we video chat again – which is fine with me. Should allow enough time for my zit/sign of a boyfriend to go away.

We’ve all received the wedding announcements with the italicized note on the bottom, “No gifts please.” The direct translation for these extra letters on a printed invitation is, “we’ve got way too much stuff to take in that used hot dog roaster you got at your most recent wedding….but feel free to bring us your best bottle of wine.”

 

While dining on fine wine and pizza with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man,  we were discussing songs for the DJ to play at their ‘No gifts please’ wedding.  I provided a few gems, but Ice Cream Man was pretty focused on Bon Jovi and Peter Gabriel. “Did I tell you I got a call from Vegas offering me second row tickets to Peter Gabriel AND lodging the night of our wedding?” he asked Sleepless. “Did I tell you I never received a RSVP card and envelope in my invitation, so please accept this RSVP – I’ll be at Peter Gabriel in Vegas, second row. Congrats on your engagement,” I replied.

 

Ice Cream Man blew off my comment and continued to research songs by New Jersey’s favorite mullet bearer. I made some comment about my gift to them being  me dressed up as one of his favorite artists (wish I could remember which one) and Sleepless, who had been quasi listening to the banter between Ice Cream Man and I, wisely stated, “No gifts please.” No problem.

 

Some might think this is a public awareness campaign designed to help get winter boots for prostitutes. Wrong, but not a bad idea.

 

A few weeks ago, Beaner watched Barbarella and sent me this message, “We started it last night. But turned it off once we realized we needed mushrooms. It was pretty funny though. I kept thinking of you.” Nothing like having people think of you while watching Jane Fonda in one of her best films and wishing they had mushrooms. Being that it had been some time since I had watched Barbarella, I decided to check it out from the library.

 

Sleepless and Ice Cream Man hadn’t seen the movie so they, being the technology savvy type, watched it on Netflix. After watching, Ice Cream Man was having a hard time with the point of the movie. Sleepless thought it was to remind us to be nice to those who hurt us and to help us realize even full body vibrators break down every once in a while. I agreed with her observations and suggested it was also to help us learn the importance of boots for each outfit. “I wish I got new boots after every sexual episode,” Sleepless told me. “That’s a lot of boots. Guess that’s why they call it booty,” I replied.

I love a concert and so does BeCuz. As a result, we often attend them together. A while back, she suggested an upcoming concert and told me tickets could be purchased at a local mattress retailer. She wasn’t kidding. A few days later, we learned the sale ended. It wasn’t that they had a big mattress/concert ticket blowout and quantities were limited, rather, it was that ‘The Script‘ had been rewritten and the concert had been cancelled. Like a mattress, I’m glad we didn’t jump on that purchase.

 

A few months ago I purchased tickets to several concerts from an actual concert venue. I purchased four tickets to one of the concerts because I really liked the artist and figured I could easily find three people who liked him as much as I did. As the concert date approached, I invited BeCuz to join me. She hadn’t heard of him, but took the offer. The day before the concert, I invited Sleepless and Ice Cream Man – they also accepted.

 

Day of, we met up at Ice Cream Man’s place for pre-concert drinks and dining. As we leisurely approached the venue, BeCuz advised us her husband thought perhaps she wasn’t being honest about our evening activities because he couldn’t see the concert on the venue’s website. “We checked the artist’s website and it was there,” she told us. We got closer and there was no line, no concert bus and very dim lighting. No concert. The venue was closed and the marquee did not even reflect a cancellation. Ice Cream Man immediately got online and read to us what he found, “As of 8/6, this event has been cancelled.” “Looks like your husband was right,” I told BeCuz. “You should totally go home and tell him the concert was great,” Sleepless suggested. “Yes, yes, good idea. Let’s go back and drink while I try to process this,” I said and added, “This is precisely why I don’t normally plan things. I’m sure Ben Howard is just as confused about this as I am.” They all thought it was quite funny that I took them to a cancelled concert – as long as they had a good time, that is all that matters.

 

Later, BeCuz sent me a message, “Thank you for your creative intervention. I had no idea you would go to such great lengths to get me out on a Sunday night.” Best laid plans….