Category: blog

“There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.” – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

 

With this in mind, I packed up the suitcase and walked out the door. I had not even made it to the end of the block when a neighbor  asked where I was headed. “Creme de la Femme’s place,” I replied. “Do I dare ask what is in the suitcase?” my neighbor asked. “Costumes,” I said and added, “I’m helping him make a video.” “Whoa. I knew he was kinky, but this kinky?” my neighbor replied. “Oh, he is kinky alright,” I replied and kept walking.

 

Upon arriving at Creme Pour La Femme’s place I shared this interaction with him. “I love it! I think I may send him a text asking if I can borrow his shock collar,” Creme Pour La Femme replied.

 

Creme Pour La Femme is a lot like me and Oscar Wilde when it comes to rumors. I love crafting them and, as I was packing my suitcase to go to his house, I knew the neighbors would see and start talking. For me, crafting the rumor and building upon it is a really good time. Q and I used to do it all of the time at the office. Whenever we knew others were listening we would talk about our upcoming promotions, pregnancies and anything else that would get the people in the office talking.

 

Eight hours after walking to Creme Pour La Femme’s, in what many would consider the middle of the night, I packed up my bag of tricks and returned home. For some, this might be considered a walk of shame. For me, since I knew we had just created an award winning video and started some incredibly good gossip, I considered it a walk of fame – the only shame being it was far too late for anyone to see me walking home. Next time……

As we engage in new relationships in life, we have to make some pretty big decisions. Specifically, when it might be alright or acceptable to take it to another level – the level involving bodily functions (sex excluded).

 

By ‘bodily functions,’ I’m referring to eructation (burping and belching), flatus (gas) and closed door activities (number one and number poo). Many people have reported to have never displayed the first two bodily functions in the presence of others. I would be very hesitant about trusting these people. Not because they don’t eructate or flatulate – rather, because they lie about it. If one consumes food or beverage they will, at some point, do these two things in the presence of others. As far as the latter two, well, that is really taking the relationship to another level.

 

We were discussing this with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man who have been dating for almost two years and have not done any of these things in the presence of each other – not purposely anyway. “She farts herself awake sometimes,” Ice Cream Man said and added, “She doesn’t know she does it. I think it is cute.” Ah, the early stages of a relationship. “You only have one bathroom,” That’s Not Chinese observed and asked, “You’ve never peed in front of each other.” “No,” Ice Cream Man proudly confirmed. “Well I’ve seen you both pee,” I interjected. “It’s true,” Sleepless concurred. “In the Hamptons, we all saw you when I (Sleepless) opened the bathroom door to make sure you were OK.” “I’ve also seen you pee outside. Several locations. Several times,” I added.

 

“Well, for the record, I got to hear about all of the things you girls were doing in the Hamptons. Throwing up (drinking induced) and taking a shit, two actually,” he stated. The latter bit of that comment was directed toward me. “I’m pretty regular,” I advised. Ice Cream Man continued, “And then, she (me again) goes into the bathroom while you (Sleepless) are getting ready, starts to pee, and says, ‘Uh oh. I didn’t see this coming. You may want to leave unless you’re ready to take this relationship to another level.’ Wow.”

 

I’m cool with it. I know I’m among friends when my flatulence doesn’t clear a room – at least, not permanently. As Outkast once so wisely sang, “I know you’d like to think your shit don’t stank. But lean a little bit closer. See that roses really smell like poo-poo-poo.” What’s a relationship without roses? Stank free? I doubt it.

 

Like many great artists, some of my best ideas come to me when I am in a remote and cozy location….or when I’m intoxicated.

 

If you’re familiar with Broadway, you are probably aware of the several variations:

 

Broadway – geographically located between 41st and 54th Street and 6th and 8th Avenue; maximum of 499 seats

Off Broadway – located in or outside of the geographical area above; seats more than 99, however, less than 499

Off Off Broadway – less than 100 seats; most likely not in the geographical area above

 

Last week, while in the pool, I came up with a new Broadway: Fuck Off Broadway.

 

How this happened was nothing short of spectacular. I lost my balance on my raft, spilled a little of my drink, and exclaimed, “Fuckity fuck and shim shiminy shit.” “What was that?!?!” YummYummy inquired with genuine interest. “I’m Mary Fuckin’ Poppins, that’s what.” YummYummy, not historically a fan of broadway and musicals, was pleased and made a suggestion, “I think you should add a little something special on the end, “I’m Mary Fuckin’ Poppins, bitch!”

 

Once in Manhattan, and as we made our way through the crowds near Broadway, we felt it might be a good time to suggest “Fuck Off Broadway” to others. YummYummy, always one to add a little flare to the production, made another suggestion, “I think we should say, ‘shim shiminy shitballs.'” Suggestion accepted and script revision in progress – searching for words that rhyme with shitballs.

 

Like many other Off Broadway shows, it may not take off right away. I think, however, if we offer spoonfuls of sugar and shots of vodka at the door, people will leave the show thinking they were just on a jolly holiday with Bert. “Shim shiminy shitballs,” they’ll exclaim as they leave, “I wish it weren’t last calls for alcohols.” Then, they’ll stumble out into the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, where the sidewalks and buildings will be covered with chalk art (aka, tagging) and the rooftops will behold chimney sweeps – more likely burglars or Toms who peeps – a ‘good’ scene, nonetheless. I have a feeling this is going to be superfuckincalifragilisticexplicitialidocious!

Peculiar as it may be, or not, my friends and I have a tendency to end up at many of the same bars, clubs and restaurants when visiting Manhattan. Many times this occurs on purpose, however, most times it seems to just happen. We’ll be walking, looking for somewhere to drop some money and gain some weight, and bada boom – we walk into a place (i.e., Peculiar Pub) that we have ‘accidentally’ been to many times before.

 

This year, was no different. After walking for some time – at least four blocks – YummYummy and I decided to stop at the same pub that we frequented last year on my birthday. Unlike last year, the place was packed – like our pants. Once we were finally seated we decided to take a couple of pictures of us. As is often the case, we tend to take self-portraits. After a few fantastic pictures, a patron nearby asked, “Would you like me to take a good picture of you?” We humbly obliged and quickly realized how others were perceiving our photographic skills.

 

After a few more drunk shots (pictures, not actual shots), we went to a lounge near our hotel which, after being their only a few minutes, we decided would become our ‘local hangout.’ Being that it was a Tuesday night, they only had one staff on duty and he was busy. So busy, he didn’t even have time to restock toilet paper in the bathroom. Being the kind patrons we are, and needing to pee, we offered to do so for him. “We’re literally all out,” he advised. I offered to go purchase some for him and he respectfully declined. After that, our drinks were really strong and really discounted.

 

The next day, we stopped at a different bar (so unlike us). The service, like our self-portraits the previous day, wasn’t good. “Maybe you should offer to go buy some toilet paper for her and she’ll pick up the pace,” YummYummy suggested. From now on, I’m going to do as Mrs. SwissAir does and keep a roll or two (‘acquired’ from a different establishment) in my purse – it’s good for business, literally.

With the Hamptons and our Hamptonames behind us, YummYummy and I headed to Manhattan to do what we do best – eat and drink our way across the city.

 

“I’ve got a hangover,” YummYummy announced as we approached Manhattan. “And I’m not talking about the kind you get from drinking…well, maybe….I’m talking about the kind where your belly hangs over your pants,” she clarified. “Those are the hardest to get rid of,” Ice Cream Man stated. We all understood where she was coming from. In fact, Sleepless and I are still carrying France in our pants. As the saying goes, “You can take the girl out of France, but you can’t take France out of the girl’s pants.” Or something like that.

 

Once in the city, we didn’t let our hangovers get in the way and continued to fill our plates, cups and pants. Attempting to get a little culture from somewhere other than the frozen yogurt shop, we attended Bushwalla at Joe’s Pub. As we were seated, they advised us there was a $12 food/drink minimum per person. “That won’t be a problem,” we said in unison.

 

Bushwalla, who makes baskets on bikes both gangsta and sexy, did an amazing job rapping, engaging Good Eye Money Guy – who he endearingly referred to as ‘Al, and gyrating. “He gyrates just great,” I told YummYummy and added, “It kind of makes me want to join in, but I’m not ready to let go of my intertube.” “That reminds me,” YummYummy replied, “I have felt like I have been swimming ever since we left the pool. In fact, I still fill like I have an intertube on.” “I think we both do. Might be time to gyrate,” I replied.

Good Eye Money Guy loves a challenge. More specifically, he does not like to lose.

 

One evening, after half of the party retreated to bed in the quiet house and one or two passed out in the fun house (or on the fun house lawn – true party style), the rest of us pulled out the vodka and karaoke.

 

Good Eye Money Guy was the first to sing and didn’t do too bad – score: 94. I stepped up next and did the best I could, which was also the best the mic allowed – score: 100. This was not pleasing to Good Eye Money Guy, thus, he challenged me to another round – this time, choosing my song. I accepted the challenge and, once again, scored 100.

 

Good Eye Money Guy, not wanting to lose, continued to sing and challenge others – even encouraging bets – in an attempt to redeem himself. Eventually, he met one of his goals and scored 100. “For the record, she got 99,” he said, referring to me. Duffy respectfully corrected him, “No, she got 100.” “Can we all remember this the same way?” Good Eye Money Guy pleaded.

 

Later, as Sumner Charles III, Duffy, Kitty and I were chatting about some of the weekend shenanigans, Duffy, Kitty and I remembered them the same while Sumner Charles III remembere them differently. “Can we all remember this the same way?” Kitty quipped.

As we drove toward our East Hampton destination, we discussed how we planned to spend our days. Woody likes to have a plan. The rest of us had only one plan: hang out, literally. “We’re all here to spend time with each other….or not,” I advised. “Exactly,” Kitty concurred.

 

As planned, we spent a majority of our time hanging out, primarily, in the pool. In fact, Kitty and I did virtually everything in the pool. One evening, after dining out (of the pool), we were sitting poolside drinking and decided to jump in. Dress and all. After several hours of gracefully navigating the water in our gowns, we decided we were overdressed and ditched our dresses for inner tubes. The inner tubes became a constant, and sometimes the only, accessory.

 

As naked girls do, we talked boobs. “If you want some of this, you have to have some of that,” I said pointing to my boobs and then my real life inner tube. I added, “And this shit is real.” “I’m 80% real,” Kitty interjected. We eventually decided to exit the pool. “The hardest part about getting out of the pool is finding a place to pee,” I told Kitty and Duffy. It was then we decided that if and when we get out of the pool we would keep our inner tubes on. “While others get in touch with their inner child, we stay in touch our inner tubes,” I advised. They agreed that was good advice – every girl – overdressed or undressed – needs an accessory.

With the Summer Olympics coming to a close in England, we decided to hold our own version in East Hampton. After very little deliberation we decided to call it The Hamptomlympics. “Not to be confused with The Hampton Limp Dicks,” I said. “That’s a moutful…or not,” Kitty quipped.

Our competitions would include synchronized drinking, stretching (done in bed – this morning Lady Spaniel got a perfect 10), hosta jumping, belly flopping, tube entry, raft landing, projectile vomiting, and any other “sports” we wanted to add.

“What about cheating with drugs to enhance your performance?” Sumner Charles III asked. “No dopping….control,” Woody advised and added, “You’re free to use whatever you’d like.”

That worked well for three of us. Thanks to alcohol, Sumner Charles II got the gold, Duffy got the silver and Kitty got the bronze in projectile vomiting. Proud moments.

While competing for the silver for pool time, which I believe was a tie between me and Kitty, Lady Spaniel was “relaxing” inbetween Woody’s legs. “Check out this Olympic training event. Ladies will be lining up to use my equipment,” Woody proudly stated. He clearly was not a member of The Hampton Limp Dicks.

Spending one’s day poolside and drinking has far more outcomes than one might think.

 

For starters, you learn a lot about each other. Kitty and I were discussing the days and lays of yesteryear when she came to a conclusion, “We’ve had more sex than most people will have in a lifetime.” “I don’t know if there’s truth in that, but there is definitely an antibiotic for it,” I replied, we ‘cheered’ our plastic cups and drank some more.

 

Meanwhile, Woody was doing one of the things he does best – both at home and on vacation – cooking for us. “I smell skunk,” Kitty declared. “I think he is burning pizza,” Buffy advised. “He is definitely burning something in there,” I said while watching Woody fan something near the oven. “There’s a cream for that,” Kitty quipped.

 

When Woody rejoined us outside he informed us he did not, in fact, burn himself. This is lucky for him because, based on what I saw, he would have ended up with a bit of singed hair. “Are you not vaxing?” Lady Spaniel asked him. “I leave this alone,” he said while rubbing his chest and added, “but I take good care down here – Grey Gardens.” He then looked at me with concern and said, “Not blogworthy. Do I have to prove?” “Whoa, keep the stallion in the shed,” Sumner Charles III quickly chimed in. There may be creams and antibiotics for some things, but none of us were aware of one that erases visuals.  “We’d need some MIB spray for that,” Sumner Charles III advised.

 

With our baskets full of sandwiches, club soda and bubbly cheer, we decided to take advantage of National Lazy Day by throwing caution to the wind (to include the flash flood and tornado warnings), and head to Montauk Point Light (lighthouse on the South shore of Long Island). Luckily, we had spent the entire previous day lounging around the pool, so we were more than ready to officially celebrate by doing absolutely nothing, again. “We were preparing for today,” Sleepless said. “We’re definitely ahead of our time….zone,” I agreed.

 

DDDG has been ahead of (and behind) her time zone for some time, donning a posh watch with a dead battery. Not that any of us cared about the actual time while on vacation but, while in the Hamptons, DDDG wanted to look the part and, as long as people only asked her the time at or around 3:37, her watch was spot on. While cruising East 27, eating our sandwiches, enjoying our beverages and heading to Grey Gardens, both Skiwi and I received National Weather Service warnings about flash flood and tornado watches.

 

Several of us had reviewed the weather reports earlier and had seen there was a chance of ‘weather,’ however, never expected what we quickly encountered: a river flowing down the streets of East Hampton and our car immediately became a boat. “It’s funny we were pish poshing the flashfood rain, ‘Oh pish posh Muffy,'” said Kitty.  “Awww shit, get your towels it’s about to go down. I’m on a boat. I’m  on a boat. Everybody look at me ’cause I’m sailing on a boat,” Sumner Charles III white rapped.

 

Upon arriving in the Hamptons we had decided that, in order effectively acclimate, we should have Hamptonames. I became Muffy, Sleepless became Duffy, YummYummy became Kitty, Ice Cream Man became Sumner Charles III, Autumn Mist or Bunny depending on his attire, DDDG became Lady Spaniel and Skiwi became Woody. With his new name selection, Woody said, “Woody. Seems appropriate. The name changes will help keep what happens in the Hamptons in the Hamptons.” “What happens will stay in the Hamptons,” I replied and added, “and the blog.”

 

Keeping in a rhythm that would make Nat King Cole and Andy Samberg proud, we maintained a lazy pace while enjoying the hazy skies and getting a little crazy drinking Santana champ. As Andy has said, “….this ain’t Seaworld, this is as real as it gets.”