Category: blog

With our Hurricane motorhome covered in clever sayings and our cups full of cocktails, the Bachelorette and her brigade headed to the first Bachelorette Bash stop: karaoke. We arrived to find the Bride-to-Be’s name in lights on the marquee – so far, so good. Inside, the bar was set up with tables, reserved for us, around the dance floor. “I’m telling you, party planners,” Oreggano said as we ordered our first glass of wine. Sleepless was in awe with all of the celebrations. “You really didn’t need to do this,” she told us. “Of course we did,” I said and added, “You only get married a couple times.” First, second or third wedding, Oreggano and I will make the party so good you’ll want to do it all again.

 

We spent several hours at the karaoke bar – plenty of time to sing our favorite hits and shake our boas until the feathers covered the floor. “Oh my,” Sleepless wisely observed, “We’re leaving so much evidence.” It wasn’t just the feathers we were leaving behind. We were leaving glitter, memories, and her single life behind us as we walked out the door and headed to our next destination: to be determined.

 

Ice Cream Man had given Oreggano and I an envelope, addressed to “The Girls of Glitter Gulch,” to open and read aloud once we were all together. So, at the karaoke bar and as the party planners, Oreggano and I took it into a stall and opened it up for a preview. As the party planners, we had to know if our plans would need to be adjusted. After laying everything out on the toilet seat, we both agreed we could move forward with reading it aloud and adjust our plans to accommodate his love note.

 

We exited the loo, took the stage and the mic, and invited Sleepless to join us. Ice Cream Man’s package was full of innuendos about Magic Mikes/mics, as well as several Washingtons (those are one dollar bills for you high rollers), aspirin and bandaids. We quickly determined our next destination: strip club down the street, packed up our belongings, and headed to the motorhome for shots.

 

Also in our company at this point was a male blow-up doll. He had several names, but Juan was the ‘juan’ that stuck with him and his nickname soon became Juan Night Stand. We threw a t-shirt and boxer shorts on him, so as to avoid any trouble in public places, and proudly entered the strip club, Juan Night Stand in tow. Within minutes, they recognized we were a bachelorette party – could have been all the tutus, feather boas we were wearing and/or Juan Night Stand – seated us in the VIP section and brought us complimentary champagne. Our driver was quite pleased with both the service and the venue and quickly withdrew several hundred dollars for us to give the dancers. “Make it rain!” he kept telling us. Make it rain, we did.  The dancers loved us. At one point, Sleepless’ soon-to-be sister-in-law came over to our dancer, exclaimed, “I love little titties,” and then made it rain. Not surprisingly, we quickly ran out of ‘rain’, grabbed the blow-up doll, and decided to make our way to our next and almost final destination: a country line dancing bar.
We arrived to find a bar full of exactly what we expected – plaid shirts, short skirts, Wranglers, boots, and bull riding. After observing the bull riding competition, Sleepless decided to give it a go. A minute or so later, we were back on the dance floor. Riding a bull is not like riding a bike – it doesn’t ‘just come back to you’ and they don’t provide a helmet. Luckily, her bucking off didn’t require bandaids or aspirin – but we had them if needed. By the time we were ready to leave we noticed we were short one girl – last seen dancing with a guy in a plaid shirt, Wranglers and boots. “It wouldn’t be a true bachelorette party if someone didn’t have a Juan Night Stand,” I advised. They all agreed and Oreggano made an executive decision to leave her behind. Later, we found out (from law enforcement) she willingly entered a cab with several men. We also found out the Bride-to-Be didn’t really know her, rather, she just came with one of the invited guests. “Good,” I told Oreggano and Sleepless and added, “I’d much rather we outsource that type of activity.”

 

As we drove toward home, we knew we had one final stop: That’s Not Chinese’s house. She and Unfazed had intended to attend, but opted out at the last minute. We rolled up in the ‘party on wheels,’ ran to her door, then knocked and sang out her name – to no avail. We went around back and did the same thing. Nothing. I decided to climb the fence, but gave up before even trying. We finally relented, ran back to the motorhome and called it a night. Leaving behind a little rain everywhere we went: feathers at the karaoke bar, one dollar bills at the strip club, a girl at the country bar, and a lasting impression with Unfazed who, unbeknownst to us, had opened the door and watched us run back to the motorhome. “Like little mice,” That’s Not Chinese later told us. Little mice is about right. We are nocturnal, enjoy nibbling on midnight snacks, totally would have snuck into That’s Not Chinese’s house if we could have found a way in (without climbing the fence, of course), and may, one day, be helpful scientific subjects. Until that day, we’re just going to keep making it rain!

As of late, Oreggano and I have been in the business of planning parties. We feel can officially announce this because we have successfully planned and implemented two parties in this last week.

 

The first was a brunch which was both well prepared and well attended. Oreggano went all out on the decorations – to include decorating the cups and pitchers. “I don’t know what is happening to me,” she told MiniMe and I. “I’m getting all mother fuckin’ crafty.” She and Martha Stewart could definitely kick it in jail well together.

 

Our second big event was the Bachelorette Bash for Sleepless. We knew simple was best, so we arranged for a motorhome, driver, welcome on a marquee and a reserved section at our favorite karaoke bar. We had a few ideas for places to continue the party, but figured we would play it by ear.

 

As we decorated the motorhome, we humbly discussed how amazing we are at planning parties. “We’re fuckin’ good. We should really do this professionally,” Oreggano suggested. “Good idea. I think I’ll have to quit my job to do it – it keeps getting in the way of our fun and our real job – party planning,” I replied. Once we finished decorating the motorhome we stood back to admire the goodness.  On the front window, “Y + D = PARTY!” On the back, “Just about to be married.” Then, on the other windows, “Ready for the alter(ed) state of mind,” “Bride to be,” I DO….but not tonight,” and “If this coach is rockin’, please come a ‘knockin’.”

 

“I want to be this on facebook so bad, but we can’t. That would ruin the surprise part of the party,” Oreggano said – spoken like a true party planner. We don’t ruin parties, we make them happen and, happen, it did.

While at a work social, one of my coworkers decided to sing for everyone. Her songs of choice: Whistle and Sexy and I know It. So, while the rest of us were enjoying a nice beverage and toasting marshmallows over a can of chafing gel, she was singing – proudly and loudly.

 

“Can you blow my whistle baby…..just put your lips together and you come real close,” was a line she really nailed, several times. “I got passion in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it, show it, show it,” is what she was singing as she shook the passion/fullback panties in her white pants and headed over to a table of male coworkers.

 

Once there, she changed her tune a bit and started singing September (rather appropriate considering the month), “Do you remember the 21st night of September? Love was changing the mind of pretenders.”

 

The next day, she completely changed her tune. This time it wasn’t love that was changing the mind of this pretender, rather, it was work.  She was really hoping and pretending none of this was recorded by the multiple cell phones that were out and poised on her during her act. She should be fine, so long as there aren’t any whistle blowers in the group.

 

Her performance will forever more be one of those ‘Do you remember?’ moments. If anyone forgets, we’ll just pull out one of the videos and reminisce, “Ah, girl, look at that body.” “I’m sexy and I know it,” will most likely be her reply.

Reading the headlines is one of my favorite pastimes. Every now and again, I’ll take it a step further and actually read the article. Taking that extra step this week has proven to be a wonderful gift.

 

As I read about a recent SWAT situation – a very serious situation that requires one to wear the appropriate attire (for safety), I couldn’t help but giggle when I read this line about the suspect, “He was eventually arrested wearing an orange sequined dress.” Like I said, appropriate attire is essential. I shared this with a friend who replied, “It looked more like raspberry than orange to me…kudos for having some brilliant fashion sense in his big media moment.” My other friend quipped, “Fashion police 1, fashion victim 0. Your move.”

 

This article peaked my interest, so I kept reading; another good move on my part because I found this gem about a woman who got in a scuffle at a bar, “…the 31-year-old woman appeared to have consumed too much alcohol. She was wearing a leopard-print dress and red heels.” The Responsible One posed a very good question to me, “Do you think those two have the same stylist?” I assume that’s possible and wonder what shoes the man was wearing with the orange sequined dress. We both felt that, in the future, it might be best for both of them to avoid the scuffle, keep the dress, and try the shuffle (which may require more sensible shoes).

 

The last article I read involved a burglar who got caught because he approached the responding police vehicle and said, “Hey fellers. I need some help.” He went on to tell them he witnessed a burglary and showed them some items in his backpack – items that just happened to be reported stolen in a recent burglary.  The only thing missing from his backpack was the stolen sword. The officers asked him about it and he claimed to have no knowledge. The officer then put his investigative skills to work with this phrase, “You know, the sword.” The burglar caved. Unfortunately, the article made no mention of his attire.

 

 

It’s hard to believe it has been a year since Prime Rib, The Responsible One and I popped popcorn and drank whiskey and soda poolside. This year, sadly, The Responsible One did not join us for the conference or, more importantly, the post conference activities.

 

Prime Rib loves his soda and was craving something sweet, so we headed to the grocery store. He advised me that he had, again, brought whiskey. “That’s good. All I brought is nothing,” I replied. He kindly offered to share, we bought our soda and licorice and headed to the pool.

Being that it was late and slightly overcast, nobody else was at the pool – at first. As we were refreshing our beverages, a man with a 70s moustache entered the pool area, immediately removed his shirt and immersed himself in the hot tub. He then got out of the hot tub, dove in the pool, swam a few laps and returned to the hot tub. A few minutes later, he repeated his routine. Prime Rib was baffled by him and needed to make room for more whiskey, so he made a quick dash to the poolside bathroom.

 

I continued to enjoy my beverage and the exercise routine. Prime Rib returned and said, “That bathroom is nice. I totally would have had sex in there in high school.” “Really? Hmmm. I’ll have to check it out,” I replied. “By the way, have you ever noticed that people with hairlips tend to workout a lot?” Prime Rib asked me under his breath while gesturing to the late night swimmer. “I haven’t and did not realize he had a hairlip – all I saw was a moustache,” I said and asked, “If that is true, would it be fair to say most people who workout have hairlips?” “Maybe,” Prime Rib replied, contemplating the concept. “One more reason I don’t workout,” I replied.

 

I must say, I’m not a firm believer of the concept that nice bathrooms equal sex and hairlips equal exercise. I do believe, however, there is a strong correlation between me being in this city and drinking whiskey poolside.

With guests set to arrive within minutes, Oreggano and I quickly cleaned her house, finished our coffee, finalized the gift basket and brushed our teeth.

 

The latter was a rather important pre-party step. After brushing, I returned my toothbrush to the travel case and took my overnight bag to the car. A lot of detail, I know, but you’ll soon understand why that is important.

 

As the majority of us enjoyed mimosas, That’s Not Chinese and Big Bounty enjoyed nomosas. “I’m sick,” was the explanation That’s Not Chinese provided for drinking champagne only. This was the same explanation she provided when dishing up her plate before others. She is definitely sick. If she wasn’t, she would just do these things sans explanation.

 

The champagne continued to flow and so did the stories. Big Bounty shared a story with us about a time she got even with someone by asking to use their bathroom and then cleaning their toilet with the toothbrush. “I’ve done that a few times,” Live Longer admitted. “This is exactly why I’ve always advised MiniMe to remove toothbrushes from the bathroom when guests are coming over,” I said and added, “You never know what weird things one might do to or with your toothbrush.” This is especially true if one is bristly. Bristles in the hands of a bristly person is nothing but trouble….and clean toilets.

Oreggano and I love planning any reason to get together and eat and drink. With Sleepless and Ice Cream Man soon getting hitched, we decided to turn our brunch into a bachelorette event. Being that they requested no gifts (or kids) at their wedding, we decided to give her a gift basket full of wines and clever sayings for some of their relationship ‘firsts.’

 

Firsts such as anniversary, fight, Christmas and VD. To avoid any confusion, we spelled VD (Valentines Day) out for them – nobody really likes celebrating venereal disease. As we were coming up with clever rhymes for each ‘first’ tag, there were a few times when we couldn’t think of anything that was clever, let alone rhymed. “We can’t be party planners if we get stumped on this shit,” Oreggano advised me. “I know, I know. Let me phone a friend for help,” I replied and then sent a message to Maverik Midget King. “Besides ‘pink,’ what rhymes with blow job?” He quickly replied, “Dick? Moist vagina?” “Perfect,”Oreggano said.

 

We continued working on rhymes, opting to omit the word ‘pink’ and use ‘wine’ instead (so many words can be paired/rhymed with wine). As is often the case with the two of us, we got a bit derailed. “We need to get serious. This is our first attempt at party planners and we need to make a good impression,” she told me. “Well then,” I said, “We’re going to need some more Slick Writers.” “That’s funny. Write that shit down,” she instructed me and then asked, “What rhymes with pink? Besides stink.” “Let me think,” I replied. She missed the rhyme – our party planning business, we may need to rethink.

For the last week, I have been planning on purchasing fresh pappardelle pasta (my current favorite) from the local farmers market. Saturday morning, I arrived, coffee in hand, and headed straight to the booth. “Two bags of pappardelle please,” I told the young ‘farmer.’ “Would you like a bag?” “No, I’ll just take it,” I replied and began to walk away. Coffee in one hand, pilfered pappardelle pasta in the other. “Um, it’s five dollars,” the young farmer said to me in a confused and hesitant voice. “Like I said, I’m just taking it,” I joked – she didn’t see the humor. I apologized, paid, and walked away wondering to myself, “What the hell?” It’s not like I have a ‘farmers market tab,’ nor did I bring a chicken with which to barter. Clearly, I needed to consume more coffee before continuing with my plans for the day.

 

My next destination was work. The on-call job at the furniture store is a great way to make a little extra cash. Assuming, of course, that one doesn’t buy anything while working. So far, this job has cost me far more than I’ve made. Today was no exception. I asked about a bookcase I had been eyeing for some time and the sales associate advised me I had to have it – the price (marked down $500) was too good to not buy. “Fine, I’ll take it,” I told him. “Deal is, you’ve got to take it home today. I doubt it will fit in your car,” he advised. It would definitely fit in Dirk – everything fits in Dirk, but I didn’t have him. Sleepless and I had traded cars so she could use Dirk to move out of her apartment. Always one to take on a challenge, I told him I would put it in Sleepless’ car. He and the will call staff  were convinced it wouldn’t fit. “We’ll hold it. You can come back another day,” they told me. “No way. It will work. I’ll just take it,” I stubbornly replied. Five minutes and a small section of twine later the bookcase was in the trunk of Sleepless’ car and I was heading home.

 

My pappardelle pasta, however, was still sitting in the refrigerator at the furniture store. In my attempt to prove others wrong about the book case, I forgot to just take my almost pilfered pappardelle pasta and go home.

 

A while back I was at a conference and, while eating lunch, an attendee asked if I was a runner. I found the question quite comical. Runner? Me? As I’ve said before, I only run if I’m being chased or, like YummYummy, I’ll run after the ice cream truck. I was sharing this story with someone later and asked, “Why would he ask me that?” “Maybe it was because of the amount of carbs you were consuming.” Good point.

 

Today, while at a summit, the man sitting next to me brought a couple of plates of food to the table, “I got some food for our table. Have at it.” “What is that?” I asked pointing to a dip. “Yogurt with mint. I dare you to try it,” he replied. “Have we met?” I asked him. “No, actually,” he said and introduced himself. “You’re probably better off not daring me to eat,” I advised him and added, “I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

 

As we ate, one of the presenters said something of great wisdom, “I always judge the quality of an event by the quality of the food.” I looked at the guy sitting next to me and gave him the ‘mmm hmm’ nod. A few minutes later, he asked me a question about something one of the speakers said. I answered the question and, during the next break, he asked me, “Have you ever seen this photo app?” “No,” I said, looked at his phone and saw a photo of me. “I’ll delete it,” he said. Now that I think about it, maybe I should have ran from the dip – the one on the plate and the one sitting next to me.

Wanting to stay hydrated, I’ve been trying to drink more (non-alcoholic beverages) lately. This morning, I enjoyed a smoothie, coffee and water on my way to a training.

 

Once I arrived at the training, the plan was to eat and work, however, the food was quickly consumed by others so I was left with only my water. I drank it, sparingly (the only drinking fountain I saw in the building was missing a spout and appeared to be acting as a plant stand), over the course of five hours.

 

As soon as the training ended I decided to grab some food. I stopped at a fast food restaurant and ordered two tacos. While I waited for them to be prepared, I began craving a veggie burrito from a different fast food restaurant. Being that I had already placed my order, I paid, ate the tacos and headed to the other restaurant. The other restaurant was about 45 minutes away, which gave me plenty of time to process/digest the first two tacos.

 

I got the veggie burrito and ate it so quickly one would have thought I risked having someone take it from me. My water from the morning was gone, but I had ordered water from the previous restaurant and was drinking it as fast as I was consuming the burrito. I arrived home to find I was exhausted and, within minutes, was passed out on the coach experiencing what doctors call postprandial somnolence., People like me call it a food coma. Coma is essentially defined as a deep sleep and sleep is important if one is pregnant. I’m not pregnant, but I have a feeling that after my four-hour food coma, a food baby may soon be on the way.