Category: blog

I’ve recently learned of a rather sobering detail. My office is looking to change policy which, if approved, would mean no drinking for me – ever.

 

As you might guess, this was rather sobering news for me – literally. My life (on the porch, in wine country, etc.)  flashed in front of me as I was discussing this with a coworker  and advised her, “They continue to take away our benefits.” “Like being drunk and getting paid for it?” she quipped. “Exactly,” I replied.

 

I understand not drinking at work and the importance of not showing up to work drunk (although nobody from Mad Men understands this and I respect them for that). I don’t, however, understand not being able to drink after hours – regardless of whether or not one is on-call. On-call, last call. What’s the difference, really?

 

I shared my concerns with my employer who appeared to be just as surprised as me by this detail. He reminded me the policy was in draft form and I reminded him I had 14 years before I could retire. 14 truly painful years if the policy changes. “Maybe we could make an exception for me in the policy. In the meantime, before this goes into effect, I’ve got some drinking to do,” I advised him. “Have one for me,” he replied. I will. On-call last call is sobering, that’s for sure.

 

 

When That’s Not Chinese makes her mind up about something there really is no changing it….usually. Today, her issue was with Unfazed and I wanting to see Olivia Newton John in concert. “You two enjoy yourselves – it will be a great opportunity for you to bond.  I’ll be sitting here drinking wine while you waste almost $100, each, on her,” she told us while smugly leaning back in her chair and sipping on her wine.

 

Unfazed and I didn’t let her comments get to us and immediately started singing, “Please, Mr., please, don’t play B-17. It was our song, it was his song, but it’s over….” Who, to our surprise, was singing right along with us? That’s Not Chinese. “See. You love her! You know her songs. I guess that means you’re going,” I told her. “Oh, hell no,” she replied.

 

OK, so she isn’t going. No problem. Unfazed and I have already decided to make a night of it – dinner, singing with Olivia, hoping for a John Travolta cameo. “Maybe they could do something from Two of a Kind,” I thought aloud. “That would be awesome,” Unfazed replied and we started singing again. That’s Not Chinese again joined in. “You know you want to go,” Unfazed told her. “I know the words and I know I don’t want to go,” That’s Not Chinese quipped, then continued on with the chorus.

 

“You know she (Olivia, not That’s Not Chinese) still sings Physical, she just slows it down a bit,” Unfazed advised me. “Another reason I’m not going,” That’s Not Chinese interjected. “Xanadu. Another reason you should,” Unfazed replied. Too bad That’s Not Chinese isn’t willing to experience a strange twist of fate. Has she never been mellow? Oh well, Unfazed and I will enjoy the concert, just the two of us, hopelessly devoted to Olivia.

Like me, Live Longer  enjoys a good auction. Recently, she acquired a cooking class for eight and, as luck would have it, invited me to benefit from her win.

 

To ensure we truly appreciated her win, Live Longer hosted the class in a beautiful home with an incredible kitchen equipped with double ovens and double entendres – two things Live Longer and I both love.

 

On the menu was Chilled Eggplant Terrine, Braised Mediterranean Mussels, Wild Line-Caught Grouper “In Papiro,” Cocoa Panna Cotta and a lot of eyebrow raising, side commentary and giggles from us girls. It was hard not to giggle between the chef’s cooking commentary and our cutup (sans cooking knives) behavior.

 

As the chef prepared the mussels, he gave us several pointers, “Ripping the beard off is easy.” “Not if you’re gay and don’t want others to know,” someone quipped. “When they open up, they release their liquor…..you can’t pull it open yet,” he continued. “Sounds familiar,” another quip and several giggles. Live Longer took this opportunity to share some expertise, “They might be small, but they’re hard.”

 

Oper found this quite humorous, however, her favorite comments were made earlier when preparing the greens. “We’re going to toss the salad,” and “Don’t forget the salad spinner,” made her giggle like a school girl.

 

As dining goes, we soon moved on to dessert and our chef had more cooking wisdom. “If I may interject something about equipment…” I think the rest was about non-stick, however, I’m not entirely sure because we started laughing and the next thing we knew he advised us to, ”fill your vessel.” He showed us how to do so and then said, “I tear the rim.” Good to know. As he cleaned up the dessert ingredients, one of our other friends panicked a bit. “Did you leave me the cream?” and then adamantly added, “I will have cream on my face by the end of the night.” Apparently it’s good for the skin….that’s what she said.

 

Surprisingly, our chef stayed, finished our cooking lessons, broke bread with us and we officially became groper, I mean grouper, groupies.

 

 

Words are important. Without them, we wouldn’t understand exactly what others need or want. That said, even with words, especially when they are used in the wrong context, we still may not understand what others need or want.

 

For example, I was chatting with someone about a situation in which three individuals I know behave as though they are either the Wizard of Oz and his Oompa Loompas or the Godhead. “The Godhead is probably a more accurate description,” I said. He nodded in agreement while I continued, “Yep, the Godhead, total trilogy.” “You mean Trinity?” he asked, laughing. “Trinity, trilogy.  Theology is clearly not my thing,” I replied. “Speaking of trilogies, I saw one at the theater the other night. It was great,” he said then shook his head and laughed, “Trilogy.”

 

Later on, I met up The Responsible One and Drink Whisperer. We were discussing current events when Drink Whisperer, after being surprised by several old news stories that were new to him, he told us, “I get 95% of my news from Jon Stewart and the other 5% from you.” I’ll take that – to be put in the 100 percentile with Jon Stewart was quite an honor. Especially considering we’re both into sapphire. I mean, satire.

 

As we continued to discuss current events, Drink Whisperer proudly informed The Responsible One and I that, thanks to working out, he is, “totally viral.” “That explains a lot,” The Responsible One told him. “Virile, I mean virile,” he quickly corrected and added, “You don’t need to blog today. Take a day off.” I would do that, but then he would only be getting 95% of the news.

For a while, grey hair was popular. If you google, ‘grey hair popular,’ the first thing that pops up is ‘the grey hair trend of 2010.’ For many with naturally grey hair, this was a great year. For Anderson Cooper, every year is 2010. Bruiser and I were discussing this fact and admiring some lovely naturally greyed hair women. “I would go that color,” I told her. “Me too, but all I’ve got is these strays. Every time I see them, I color them,” she replied. “Gotta keep the strays to get the greys,” I advised her and then told Kitchen Beautician it might be time to tend to my strays again.

 

The next day, I tended to my other strays: BeCuz, Har, LaLaLovely (she was done laying Low) and Oreggano. We dined, drank and dished for about four hours. At one point in the conversation, I noticed that BeCuz had a piece of herb on her front tooth. “You’re got some herb on your front tooth,” I told her. “I’m saving it for later. Fuck off,” she replied. This is why BeCuz is one of my strays – she has always deviated from life’s norms.

 

Eventually, we all left the restaurant. LaLaLovely had to “get some…..where,” Oreggano and I planned to stoop, and Har and BeCuz left for home – herb still intact. Oreggano and I hadn’t been stooping for more than one glass of wine, so I’m guessing 20 minutes, when a stray dog ran up onto the porch and immediately joined our festivities. Luckily, I have dog dishes (from previous ‘strays’) and was able to provide Mocha (the current stray dog) with some fresh water. Thus, within minutes of the new guest’s arrival, we were all drinking on the porch, even 4-oh-9, who had her bottle.

 

Two hours later, Mocha’s sitter retrieved her, Oreggano and 4-oh-9 headed home and I went inside, brushed my teeth and noticed a stray. This time, however, the stray wasn’t a dog, it was a grey hair. Wanting to live in the now and not in the then – which, in this case, is 2010 – I decided to schedule a hair appointment with Kitchen Beautician as soon as possible. Last thing I need is to be led astray by a grey.

There are times when one, regardless of what crazy holiday may be taking place, must lay low. Today was one of those times. Bruiser and I decided to meet for brunch and were soon joined by Kitchen Beautician and MiniMe. We ordered coffee and Bruiser, who recently learned she is lactose intolerant, asked a simple question of the server, “Do you have non-dairy creamer?” “Yes, we have skim milk,” the server replied. Bruiser patiently and kindly tried to explain the difference, but it quickly became clear to us that our server was not picking up what we were laying down.

 

Another person who wasn’t picking up what we were laying down was the busboy. Both Kitchen Beautician and Bruiser thought he was cute and suggested MiniMe pursue him. Kitchen Beautician kindly offered to be the wingwoman and slyly asked if he had plans for the holiday. He, not so slyly, told her, “I think you’re older than me.” Then, as if he was sharing international safety information, looked around, put his hand on one side of his mouth so other patrons couldn’t see, and said, “I’m only 20.” For these reasons, we all decided that pursuing him further would not be fruitful.

 

MiniMe and Kitchen Beautician eventually went their separate ways, leaving Bruiser and I to lay low on the stoop. LaLaLovely had been texting us, inquiring about our whereabouts and wanting to get together. We let her know we were just hanging out on the stoop and open to anything. She replied, “I don’t think I’m going to make it out tonight. I think I’m just going to lay low.” Wise to her ways, we quipped, “Who’s Low?” “You know me so well,” was her reply.

 

So, while she laid Low at her house, we laid low on the porch and enjoyed the holiday – a holiday that commemorates the entry of individuals into our valley. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

That’s Not Chinese and Unfazed spent several days in Chicago, after which, I retrieved them from the airport and then enjoyed dinner and drinks with them.

 

This was their first trip together and the first time That’s Not Chinese has farted in front of Unfazed. Whether one refers to it as farting, flatulence, passing gas, tooting, breaking wind, cutting the cheese, ripping one or butt burps, there are some people who are not too keen on such ‘behavior.’ Regardless of whether or not one is keen, farting is all part of the peristalsis process and considered a normal bodily function. That said, however, in modern society, not to be confused with fission-fusion society, farting in public is generally not socially acceptable.

 

Aware of this social norm, That’s Not Chinese did not fart in public with Unfazed. Instead, she waited until they were back at the hotel. As That’s Not Chinese shared this story with me, Unfazed drank her beer, unfazed. That’s Not Chinese went on tell me about her sister’s excitement this year on Mother’s Day. “She was so excited she told her husband, ‘I’m a real mom with a real boy.’ A real boy?!?! A real boy?!?!?” That’s Not Chinese said while moving her hands around like Pinocchio. Just like Pinocchio – who appeared to only have eight digits prior to becoming a real boy, but once real had ten digits – That’s Not Chinese has ten digits. Two of which soon became very busy.

 

As we were talking with her, it appeared she had started to pick her nose. “Are you picking your nose?” I asked. “I have to, I’ve got a crusty,” she replied. “Gross,” Unfazed stated. That’s Not Chinese, always the rebel, then put another finger up her other nostril. She was double digiting her nose. “That is not OK,” I advised her. “Unfazed is fazed,” Unfazed advised. “Look, I cannot wait until August for everything,” That’s Not Chinese replied. “What’s in August?” I asked. “I told her I would wait until August before farting or burping in front of her,” she replied. “Looks like that plan got trumped,” I said. “Exactly. So if I can fart and burp, I should also be able to pick my nose,” she told us. “No,” we stated in unison.

 

Once home, I sent That’s Not Chinese a text thanking her for dinner and reminding her, “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.” She replied, “What about boils?”

 

As mammals on this planet, my girlfriends and I often exhibit very mammal-like behaviors. In addition to having warm blood, birthing offspring and producing delicious milk, we have other traits that bear a strong resemblance to a group of mammals in the fission-fusion society.

 

Raccoons are notorious for being bandits, engaging in gender-specific social behavior, and frequently meeting at feeding or resting grounds. At the end of the day, when the foraging (aka, fission) is over, they return home (aka, fusion).

 

When my girlfriends and I are not birthing and lactating, we have a tendency to gather on the stoop, hang out, imbibe, hunt for and consume food (restaurant/pub crawls), and, on occasion, commandeer a rocking chair, big wheel, etc. We, like the raccoons, are part of a fission-fusion society. Some, like Rick James, might say this makes us cold-blooded, but I believe science and Foreigner would disagree.

 

 

In preparation for our upcoming trip to the Hamptons, Skiwi and DDDG invited Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and I to their house for a pre-trip wine tasting and planning. I arrived to find the four of them in the kitchen, making pizza and watermelon beverages. “Are you wearing anything under that apron?” I asked Skiwi who, with the exception of his shirt, appeared to be naked from the waist down. “Yes I am,” he said moving his apron to the side to reveal some ‘Hamptons’ red dress shorts. “We’re more than ready for the Hamptons. Check out Autumn Mist,” he said pointing to Ice Cream Man who had purposely donned a pair of baby blue dress shorts with a plaid shirt in a similar hue.

 

While sitting at the bistro enjoying our pre-trip food, Skiwi ran inside the house and returned wearing a pair of aviators. “I’m thinking these are a must for the Hamptons. Last year, everyone there was wearing them. I got them for $1 at a yard sale – they’re Sargenti. Are they too last year to wear?” he asked. “Not at all,” Ice Cream Man advised while adjusting his baby blue plaid shirt and, most likely, wishing he was wearing loafers, sans socks.

 

With dinner plans on their agenda, Skiwi and DDDG bid us farewell. Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and I retreated to the stoop where Ice Cream Man unveiled something he had been working on all day: vodka infused watermelon. This item may also end up on the menu for the Hamptons. As we enjoyed the slices of watermelon, Sleepless appeared concerned, “I can’t taste the vodka. Does this mean I’m an alcoholic?” “That’s not why you’re an alcoholic,” I replied. We all laughed and then decided to walk to a local pub.

 

Along the way, we came upon a man changing his clothes in his driveway. Apparently, he was under the impression nobody would see him and, when ‘caught,’ had something to say about it. I heard words come from his mouth, but had no idea what they were. Sleepless was pretty sure he referred to us as, ‘these three hookers.’ Ice Cream Man heard, ‘these mother fuckers.’ Either way, he wasn’t too keen on our presence. We were dressed way too smart to 1) let this deter us and 2) change our clothes in the driveway, thus, continued on our way.

 

After a round of drinks at the pub we decided to again retreat to the stoop. Halfway there, Sleepless announced she needed to pee. I recommended she do as That’s Not Chinese do and pee outside. Ice Cream Man agreed, “Every guy loves to come home from a good night out and pee in his yard.” I’m looking forward to testing this theory in the Hamptons. Sleepless, however, did not want to be like ‘every guy,’ especially considering none of the yards belonged to her. Instead, we stopped at 7-11 where she used the facilities, we bought Slurpees, and Ice Cream Man purchased two forties.

 

Ten minutes later, after a photo shoot on an abandoned sofa, and acquiring a vintage rocking chair (one man’s trash is another man’s treasure), we returned to the stoop. Sleepless and I ‘enhanced’ our Slurpees and Ice Cream Man, with his feet propped up on the cooler/ottoman, took a sip of his Natty Light and proclaimed, “I am so happy right now.” Happy we three were. Can’t wait to share this magic with ‘those’ in the Hamptons again. These three mother fuckin’ hookers are more than ready.



Fat Girl is currently in a ‘place’ where Oreggano and I once were, that place where one doesn’t wait – in line, for others, or anything else. As he and I waited ‘patiently’ for Tree to meet us at a concert, he continually checked the time, paced back and forth, and suggested we just head back to my place for wine. Tree soon arrived and, like Oreggano and I, Fat Girl actually ended up being glad he waited.

 

As we enjoyed the music, Fat Girl observed the patrons and began telling me about a guy he is crushing on. As is often the case, the guy is straight. This is an interest Fat Girl and I share – we both like guys. He tends to be attracted to the straight guys and I tend to be attracted to the gay guys. This go-round, Fat Girl is attracted to someone who is ‘divided.’ “He said he is bi,” Fat Girl told me. “Wow. That might be the perfect thing for you,” I told him. “Yep. I love guys who buy things for me. I guess that means I love buy guys, right?” he said, not entirely joking.

 

After the concert we headed back toward my house. Fat Girl was driving – being his usual giggling, Christina Aguilera singing self – when he turned left and almost high-centered us on the divider. “Welcome to Divider Island,” his friend jested. Fat Girl giggled and said, “I can’t help it. I can’t pick a side.” “We know,” I replied.