Category: blog

Oreggano and I haven’t hung out, just the two of us, for some time, thus, planned a little rendezvous in our favorite nearby resort town. In addition to enjoying the town’s atmosphere, we had each received birthday coupons from one of the restaurants and the coupons had to be redeemed in our birth month, which, according to their system, was in June.

 

As I waited for Oreggano to arrive, I had a chance to review the specialty cocktails. Once we were seated, I opted to try the ‘Kentucky Cousin.’ We both assumed it was going to be a concoction of inbred spirits, however, it was actually a concoction of bourbon, iced tea, lemonade and cherry liqueur. I’m not necessarily a fan of cherry, so this was really taking a chance for me. Oreggano, not a fan of bourbon or cherry, also decided to give it a try, “Why not? It’s my birthday, right?”

 

We all do things on our birthdays that we later (even minutes later) regret – this was the case for Oreggano.  She was not a fan of Kentucky. Neither was I, to be honest. The server returned, offered to give me a different drink or let me mix it up. “Well, everyone knows cousins in Kentucky don’t have a cherry,” I advised her and then asked for vanilla liqueur instead. She, not surprisingly, didn’t get the cherry comment, but Oreggano and I found it quite amusing. The vanilla liqueur was a much better decision and, even though she isn’t typically a fan of bourbon, Oreggano quickly helped me consume it, and we decided to rename it, ‘Kissing Cousins.’

 

When it came time for dessert, which we, of course, had to order because we were celebrating our births, we decided to order a strawberry bellini. It was quite tasty, however, like most champagne flutes, it had a very small snout that made our snouts seem rather large. “Do you remember when I wanted to get a nose job so it wouldn’t get stuck in shot glasses?” I asked Oreggano. “I do. Looks like you would have benefited from that surgery about now,” she replied. I grabbed my glass of wine instead and, very easily, took a drink with plenty of room for my snout. “Fine in the wine,” I told her. “Fine in the wine, indeed,” she replied and we made one more toast to our birthdays. We’re looking forward to celebrating them again very soon.

It turns out I am not the only person afraid of me. While at work today I had the privilege of sending a policy email to approximately 4,500 employees. In order to avoid a flurry of ‘reply to all’ messages, I sent the email utilizing the blind carbon copy feature. As a result, I had several employees who felt the email was directed at them, specifically, and they contacted me to confirm this suspicion. When I receive calls or email with this question, “Was it something I did?,” it often makes me think that, perhaps, it was something they did.

 

A few hours later, I decided to send out another email to staff. This time, the email was not about policy, rather, opportunity. The Biggest Loser had contacted us, for the second year in a row, to extend an invitation to our employees to audition for the 14th season. Having a wellness initiative as a priority, I shared the invitation with staff. Like the policy email, some people took this personal. “Are you calling me fat?” and “A couple of people told me I should audition,” were just a few of the responses I received.

 

Not having time for further work paranoia, I donned my driver outfit and headed to the airport to retrieve Ice Cream Man and Sleepless. With my driving cap, mustache, racing glasses, tie, and a sign announcing my passengers, I patiently awaited their arrival. Somehow, they made it to the baggage carousel and curbside before they saw me. I’ve no doubt Ice Cream Man gave a sigh of relief thinking this airport pickup was shenanigan free. Then, he saw me. “He gets so anxious being picked up now,” Sleepless advised me and added, “He told me he is going to start using Groupon parking coupons.” “It’s true,” he told me as he uploaded a picture of his driver and Sleepless, “Some people get nervous flying…landing…I get nervous walking off the plane.”

 

Today, paranoia was free and, like good/bad things, came in threes.

Impaired is a word that is regularly used in Las Vegas. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been to Vegas or any of it’s surrounding towns without having this word come into play.

 

While preparing to head to our hotel pool, we asked a security guard about an alternate route so we would not have to walk through the casino in our swim wear. “Are there any secret tunnels we could use?” I asked. His non-verbal, facial response indicated we were on to something. “I bet you’d take us through those tunnels if we broke the law,” BeCuz told him and added, “I’d be willing to break the law to do that.” “Not me,” I replied. “Me neither. I do background checks for a living – I just want to check them, don’t want to have one,” MiniMe advised. BeCuz shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, as if to imply we were missing out on a great opportunity. Impaired judgment at it’s finest.

 

Later, as we were walking around the strip with our souvenir beverages, we discussed modes of transportation, besides our feet. “They’ve got cabs,” I advised. “Whose got crabs?” BeCuz asked. “Cabs. They’ve got cabs,” I corrected her. “I don’t hear well,” she said. It was true. In addition to being alcohol impaired, she was slightly hearing impaired. This was evident later on when we were dining at a restaurant patio on the strip and some passersby shouted out, “Is the food good?” BeCuz asked, “Do they want us to show them our boobs?” “No!” MiniMe and I exclaimed.

 

It was at this time that I realized BeCuz may actually get to see those secret tunnels.

In order to properly experience Vegas, BeCuz and I channeled our inner celebrity. We started by turning on the Vegas visitor channel and watching the Kardashians discuss what to do and wear while in Sin City. “We should spend this weekend in the ‘what would a Kardashian do’ mindset,” I told BeCuz. “No thanks. I’m not in the mood to get married,” she replied.

 

We finished getting ready and, as a final touch, splashed ourselves with a little Paris Hilton perfume (seemed apropos for Vegas and, contrary to what most might think, Paris smells quite good), pulled out our darkest sunglasses and hit the strip. “The Kardashians would be proud,” I told BeCuz.

 

The next day, however, when discussing this theory with MiniMe, she informed us, “Usually wearing dark sunglasses inside is an indication that you are old.” Fortunately, for BeCuz, the bouncers questioned her age and requested to see her ID. She was quite pleased with the inquisition. As she and the bouncer discussed it, she informed him I was younger than her. “What?!?! No way!” was his reply. “Really?” I indignantly questioned.

 

After asking for an AARP discount, We finally made it into the venue. We positioned ourselves in the prime location – stage left and right near the bar. Once the concert started, As we danced around, I noticed my posh top had channeled it’s inner Janet Jackson. Luckily, like Janet, only a bit of my nip was exposed. Sadly, unlike Janet, Justin Timberlake was not to blame. I quickly fixed the wardrobe malfunction, and told BeCuz, “I danced so hard my top fell down.” “It does have a good sound,” she replied, clearly not hearing what I said. And so began the weekend of mature adults. Not Vegas style/industry standard ‘porn mature.’ Just ‘regular’ mature – old, hearing impaired, shade and A/C craving, and blended (alcoholic) beverage, to name a few examples.

BeCuz and I embarked on a road trip to Vegas. I was the driver and she was the navigator/DJ. Thanks to her, I’ve learned my car has an iPod jack in the glove box. I’m halfway to being really cool – just need an iPod. Fortunately, she is cool, thus, plugged in her iPod and we started moving and grooving.

 

Pretty soon into our road trip, we realized the advantages of the rumble strips – both the British band and the grooves on the side of the highway. The Rumble Strips are advantageous because they’ve got a funky beat and great lyrics. The grooves on the side of the highway are advantageous because they keep people awake and provide a powerful vibration. We respectfully and appreciatively (is that a word?) observed the grooves while making a dash cam video (you’re welcome Miss. Information).

 

As the navigator, BeCuz was showing me the perks of her phone. “It is 4G. I love it. Watch this,” she told me and then spoke into her phone, “Directions to Las Vegas.” Her phone did nothing. “Piece of shit just want 2G on me,” she advised. I smiled and popped in something I knew would work – a Roger Miller CD from the library. As we sang King of the Road, BeCuz attempted to take a picture of me and post it on facebook. “Damn thing (phone) still won’t work,” she said, upset. “What are you trying to do?” I asked. “Find Beaver,” she replied. “You’re not the first person to struggle with that,” I tried to comfort her and added, singing, “No phone, no pool, no pets. King of the road.” As we approached Beaver, literally, not on her phone, we saw a billboard suggesting people visit Beaver. “Good advice,” I told her. “Just because it has been visited doesn’t mean it has been serviced,” BeCuz quipped. So true, so true.

Unfortunately, we didn’t stop in Beaver and I needed to pee. “What comes after Beaver?” I asked BeCuz, referring, of course, to a town. “Exactly,” BeCuz replied and added, for confirmation, “Exactly.”

Har, BeCuz, Bruiser, LaLaLovely and I met for drinks and dinner. Bruiser is always early; BeCuz is either early or right on time; Har and I are always late (we like to blame that on being Greek – even though I’m not); and LaLaLovely, well, she’s fashionable.

 

By the time LaLaLovely arrived, we had already started imbibing. “Looks like you’ll have to catch up,” I advised her. “Oh I’ve been drinking since noon,” she replied.

 

As we enjoyed our beverages and waited for our entrees, the owner of the restaurant sent complimentary appetizers to our table. They were delicious, as were our entrees and, although we had closed our tab, we received additional gifts from the owner – desserts. A few minutes later, a round of mojitos – courtesy, again, of the owner. Sadly, Bruiser, BeCuz and Har had to head out, leaving behind their complimentary mojitos. “Looks like we’ll have to ‘clean up’ their drinks,” said LaLaLovely while giggling, grabbing a mojito and beckoning a man standing outside the restaurant patio.

 

“Who is that?” I asked. “My ex from high school. Don’t you remember him? I told him I was out with the girls drinking and he knew I would need a ride,” she advised me. “You still talk to your high school ex?” I asked in awe. “Yes, he’s really nice, but…” she stopped mid-sentence because he had arrived at the table.  She was right, he was really nice and, clearly, willing to go the extra mile (literally) for a friend. Apparently, he had taken the bus and then walked about a half a mile to get to the restaurant.  I inquired about what he does for a living and quickly learned why things may not have worked out for them and why, years later, they still ‘stay in touch.’ “I’m a real catch,” he told me, smiled and added, “If you’re stable and established, I’m your guy. I’m good for three things: companionship, affection and sex.” He clearly forgot his fourth attribute: designated driver.

 

Before we went our separate ways, LaLaLovely whispered to me, “We’re Vegas, right?” “Vegas?” Unlike a dealer with a deck of cards, I wasn’t picking up what she was laying down. “You know, Vegas. What happens between us stays between us,” she stated. “Oh, yeah, totally,” I replied and added, “Unless, of course, I blog about it.”

While dining with my parents last night, Pops made an observation, “There are a lot of seniors here.” He wasn’t referring to youth in their last year of high school – he was talking about good, ‘old fashioned’ adults. “Of course there are. When you get old, you go out to eat a lot – you don’t want to be home cooking,” Mama advised. “Hmmm,” I pondered out loud. “I go out to eat a lot. Does that make me old?” “It’s true. She hardly ever eats at home,” MiniMe confirmed. “But you always have food at your house. Lots of beautiful fresh fruit in your bowl,” Beaner stated, slightly confused by my homey appearances. “Those are for my guests,” I advised. Between the fruit and the waxed paper in their grilled cheese, I keep my guests full.

 

As a single female, it can be a lot of work to cook up something good that won’t get wasted (like it’s creator) several days later. As a result, unlike some of the seniors who are at home awaiting meals on wheels, I’m out and about with the spry ones – my parents included, letting people serve me. Yes, letting. I prefer to sit back with a glass of wine in my hand, kick up my heels and be served. At the end of the night, when the check comes, one sees the true benefit of being a senior – 10% discounts. From meals to heels to deals, dining out and getting old has its perks!

Met up with the parents for dinner tonight. I missed Pops’ birthday and would be out of town for Father’s Day, so I decided to take him and Mama out to eat. Being that Beaner’s birthday is a few days away, I invited her as well.

 

I had left the location up to Pops and he debated between Olive Garden and Red Lobster, “I like places that aren’t too crowded so I can hear the conversations.” He settled on Olive Garden. We arrived a little bit earlier than them and decided to have a drink and open Beaner’s birthday present. As we waited for them to arrive, we placed Beaner’s present – an ‘It’s Five o’clock Somewhere’ gnome, and some framed photos of us (actually just returning a borrow) in the center of the table. “We should really start bringing our own centerpieces to restaurants,” I advised her.

 

Pops and Mama arrived a few minutes later and were hard to miss because Pops was wearing a very festive shirt. At first I thought it was a Hawaiian type shirt, as they got closer, I realized the print was entirely hot dogs with mustard. “Nice shirt,” the server told him. “Thanks. $10.97. Walmart. They’ve got a great selection,” Pops proudly replied. Pops then told all of us (waiter included) about the various patterns and the fact that he owns all but one of them. “Tomorrow is El Capitan day,” he advised. Who needs days of the week underwear when you’ve got Walmart shirts?

 

“Do you guys have big plans for the evening?” I asked Mama and Pops. “Just hot doggin’ with mom,” Pops replied. “That sounds kind of dirty,” Mama interjected. “Oh brother. People can just dream on,” Pops said while brushing the comment/concern away with his bandaged hand. Our server approached the table  around this time and I tried to egg Pops on, “Show him your injured finger.” “Yes, show him,” Mama got in on the game. Pops finally obliged, essentially flipped the server a large, gauzy, bandaged bird and said, “Sometimes I wish the bandage was bigger, like when I see my ex son-in-law, so he could really see it.”

 

The server agreed and walked away laughing and shaking his head. I’m sure after tonight he’ll want to gauze wrap his bird finger, throw on a $10.97 Walmart shirt and go out hot doggin.’ I’m not sure, however, whether or not he’ll be with his mom.

Sleepless and I were talking about someone today, not in a bad way, just in a descriptive way; much like when one calls dispatch to report a crime and they ask for details about the suspect. Today, Sleepless was dispatch and I was the caller, “Short hair, kind of frumpy, comes alone.” I’m not sure why I added that last descriptor. One could say it just ‘came’ to me. Regardless, I plan to use it from this point forward when describing someone.

 

Later in the day, I was chatting with S-Unit. We were discussing health and some of the recommendations doctors give us when we are in various stages of recovery. S-Unit’s doctor has currently recommended that she refrain from exercise and sexual activity. “This should be easy because I haven’t done either for months,” S-Unit told me. She then told me about her aunt who was diagnosed with stomach cancer. “The  procedure to remove the cancer took half the time because she has zero body fat. She is 70 years old and is super fit,” she said and added, “When I’m 70, I’m going to be ripped.” “It’s good to have long-term goals. I love aging. I like to tell people that I’m more hip than I’ve ever been. And when I say that, I mean I’m buying bigger jeans,” I replied. “Luckily I’ve got good jeans. I got them from my aunt and I think she got them from The Gap,” she replied. “When you’re 70, and ripped, you’ll look really good in them,” I said and added, “And when people ask about you I can say, ‘Kind of short, super fit, good jeans, comes alone.”

Passed The Sniff Test and I have decided it might be nice to attend our wakes. Not because we want to die, although Passed The Sniff Test would like to tell everyone, “We’re dying to have this party.”

 

I was listening to the radio the other day when they mentioned a survey about funerals. Although I can’t recall the findings or locate the survey, the questions were related to what might happen at one’s funeral. Who would attend; what they would say; what they would wear; what you would wear; whether or not people would cry; and a few other matters.

 

As MC Static Cling and I have previously demonstrated, we prefer to put the fun in funeral, so I’m hoping people I like will attend; they’ll say whatever they want; wear whatever they want (costumes would be cool – maybe a theme); I’ll most likely be wearing something ash (yes, that was a pun); and, if people are crying, I’d like to believe it is because they laughed so hard it brought them to tears. As far as the ‘other matters,’ I’d like to have a variety of wines – boxed and otherwise, karaoke and anything else my friends might enjoy.

 

“Will we be attending our fake wake?” I asked Passed The Sniff Test. “I think we should,” he replied. “I’m thinking we should wear costumes,” I replied. Still not sure what I’ll wear – wish I could find that survey.