Category: blog

At the last minute, which is usually the first minute for me, I decided to join Calling The Dog and Rebel Dancer on a road trip to view the annular eclipse.

 

We departed first thing in the morning and drove straight through to our destination. After checking into our hotel, we decided to walk to a Mexican restaurant that was, according to the front desk employee, “just down the street.” Anxious to enjoy a nice margarita, we attempted to pay no attention to the temperature (mid-80s) and the fact that we appeared to be heading out of town with no restaurant in sight. Two and a half miles later, we stopped at a gas station for directions and information. The attendant advised us the restaurant was not only closed, but it was a church on Sundays. “We must look like real city slickers,” Rebel Dancer commented.

 

We did look like city slickers and, luckily, the country folk had mercy on us – not only did they advise us of alternate dining options, they gave us a ride back to our hotel – which saved us from hitchhiking, something we fully intended to do.

 

Once back, we hopped in our car and drove three blocks South (approximately two minutes) to a fine Mexican restaurant. One margarita later, we returned to our hotel to prepare for the eclipse – or so we thought, we were at the wrong hotel. In this small town of just over 29,000 people, they have two of the same hotel chains within one block of each other and two Mexican restaurants miles apart from each other. Unlike the restaurants, both hotels are still hotels on Sunday.

 

Not wanting to, once again, get pointed in the wrong direction, we grabbed a map, our safety glasses (both for our eyes and our wine) and made our way to a town with a population of 300. If we get lost there, we’re in trouble.

 

 

 

 

At approximately 10:31 PM, That’s Not Chinese, Sleepless, Ice Cream Man, Unfazed, Spider Bite, Spider Bite’s kids and I left the comedy club. As we walked toward Spider Bite’s car – in which most of us were riding – Spider Bite’s daughter and her boyfriend walked toward her car. A man approached them, asked for a ride, and they obliged. A possible 10-31 at 10:31.

 

Although we had been laughing for the past 90 minutes, this was no laughing matter. That’s Not Chinese didn’t have a good feeling about it, nor did Sleepless. I hadn’t been paying attention, so I was oblivious to what was happening. “Get in the car!” That’s Not Chinese ordered me and added, “We’re following them!” “What should I do?” Spider Bite asked. “Drive!” That’s Not Chinese, again, ordered. As mentioned previously, her years of watching Law & Order are really paying off. “OK, OK, but where’s Sleepless? Is she in the car?” Spider Bite asked. This was not the first time she inquired about Sleepless’ 10-20 and, each time she asked, she would find her seated directly behind her. With so many of us in the car (some had to sit in the ‘trunk’ area), it was an easy oversight.

 

That’s Not Chinese continued shouting out instructions, “Turn right, make a quick U-turn, make another right, cut off those cars;” Spider Bite was fearfully obliging; Ice Cream Man was riding (backwards) in the trunk; Sleepless was seated directly behind Spider Bite; and Unfazed was, well, unfazed. “Drive this car like it’s stolen. Which is what might happen to your daughter’s car if we don’t get there quick,” I advised, finally aware of the situation (10-80) at hand.

 

Thanks to Spider Bite’s newly acquired defensive driving skills, within minutes we had recovered her daughter, boyfriend and their vehicle – sans suspect and incident. 10-24, good buddy.

While preparing for a day with Oreggano and the wee ones, I decided to clean up a few spider webs near my doorway. As I was doing so, I noticed a huge, furry, black spider crawling toward the kitchen. I immediately grabbed the roach spray, guaranteed to ‘kill on contact’ and started spraying. Nothing happened. So, I smashed the spider with the can and, as guaranteed, it was killed on contact.

 

Oreggano arrived and we headed to a yard sale for one reason, well, two, really: Navajo tacos and frybread. We found a spot on the lawn and started eating. I soon noticed my paper plate seemed to be giving way. “I’m pretty sure I’ve cut through my plate,” I told Oreggano. “I have a feeling I may be eating my plate,” she replied. After we ate as much as we could, and still had what appeared to be quite a bit leftover, Oreggano attempted to lift her plate. As thought,  however, she had eaten right through it and her taco was now in direct contact with the grass. Luckily, it was pesticide free so that we, unlike the spider, weren’t killed on contact.

Always on the cutting edge of pampering, we decided to add a new dimension to SL,UT Cuts this week: rubs. So, while Cut As A Button colored and cut, several of us enjoyed a little massage. Being that this was a new service, Oreggano and I placed the sign outside with a slight revision: “Rubs – 50¢/minute.” Within seconds of adding this new service, we dropped the price to 25¢/minute (utilizing the meal barrow marketing technique) and provided an option for walk-ins.

 

I was glad Oreggano had stayed around to assist with this process because, when she arrived, not only was her wine not ready, her glass was dirty, and she was not pleased. “I can’t believe you didn’t have it waiting for me on a pedestal. And who has been drinking from my glass?” I apologized for not having the pedestal for her, however, the list of  whose lips had touched her glass (and clearly didn’t wash off) was far too long to provide. My survival instincts kicked in, I quickly washed her glass (twice), and provided her a generous pour – a technique that always keeps her around. Now that Oreggano was back in the drinking saddle again I wanted to be sure I did not rub her wrong.

 

The cutting and rubbing continued when Beaner asked me, “Are you ready to have sex in the sink with your sister?” I, of course, dropped what I was doing and washed her hair. Those who are kinky may think this sounds way kinky. Those who are from Czech Republic, like DDDG, may think ‘way kinky’ and ‘wakey, wakey’ sound like ‘Waikiki.’ Which is exactly what she hears when Skiwi tries to wake her too soon, saying ‘wakey, wakey,’ while tickling her feet – definitely rubbing her the wrong way.

As many of my coworkers are aware, one of my specialties is conferences. More specifically, providing a presence at the information desk. It doesn’t matter whether or not I’m on the committee, the information desk is, more often than not, where I end up spending most of my time during the conference.

 

This ‘presence’ has it’s perks, such as being invited to join in the evening festivities in the ‘hospitality’ suite. In an effort to ‘share the wealth, I invited The Responsible One to join us, “Drinks with the elite tonight?” “By elite do you mean old?” she quipped. I quickly looked around to see if anyone heard her comment and then replied, “Good thing the elite don’t have the best hearing.”  She agreed to join the festivities and bring Meat Eater.

 

We arrived to find the drinks were flowing, as was the conversation. Being that we were with a lot of attorneys,  the conversation often involved words that some of us, attorneys included,  didn’t understand. The first example involved the discussion of a tailored suit. “How were the hands?” one of the attorney asked. “The hands?” asked the other. “Yes, the hands – the feel of the fabric.” “It felt like fabric,” the other replied. “Did it drape well?” “Drape well? It wasn’t made by Julie Andrews of The Sound of Music,” the other quipped. “That is not what I mean. You are such a philistine,” the one attorney replied. “Philistine?” the other asked. “Yes, philistine. Unsophisticated, unknowing,” advised the sophisticated attorney. “I know this,” I interjected, “My drink is gone. Can someone please phili my glass?”

 

As a single female, I do a lot with my friends. As a single female, a lot of my friends are female or gay men. Thus, the majority of my photos and stories feature me near ‘misses.’ This often results in people making assumptions about my sexual preference.

 

That’s Not Chinese and I were on my stoop the other day when my neighbor stopped by and we started discussing relationships. “I’m not a lesbian,” That’s Not Chinese advised her. “Are you a lady loving lady?” my neighbor asked. “That’s one way to put it. I like to say I am a girl who likes girls,” That’s Not Chinese replied. “She’s trying not to be a lesbian right now. Primarily because the second date is approaching and she isn’t ready for a new roommate…yet. Maybe she is a thespian,” I quipped.

 

“That’s the truth about lesbians,” my neighbor replied and added, “I seem to attract straight women.” “I just attract gay men,” I replied, thought about some past experiences, and provided a revision, “I guess I attract lesbians and straight women too.” “I could see that. You definitely always have a lot of women over here,” my neighbor commented. “That’s because I’m running a brothel,” I advised her.

 

After they left, I thought about how grateful I am to be near misses. Although they may not be ‘friends with benefits,’ they bring lots of benefits to my life. In fact, a recent study found social relationships are good for everyone’s lives and are truly key to good health. Thus, ‘near miss’ isn’t a safety hazard, it’s a safety necessity.

 

To all of my near misses, thank you for the laughter, support, tears, wine and, in some cases, dreams about me. You are my oxygen!

The Napa Valley is a place I hold like a glass of wine – very dear to my heart. Several years ago I was visiting Napa with Q, MyFace and Fru Fru Pants and staying at a posh resort. While MyFace watched football in the bar, Fru Fru Pants was ou the phone and Q and I were doing what one is supposed to do: tasting wine in the wine cave.

 

While there, we stumbled upon a couple who, like us, did what they were supposed to do in wine country. As we chatted the woman and I realized we were clearly destined to meet – perhaps even separated at birth. We came to this conclusion when we noticed we both shared the same cheek dimple. We bonded immediately, took pictures, and vowed to stay in touch with our long lost and now found dimple sister.

 

Three years later our dimples remain, as does our connection. As luck would have it, again, we were both in Napa at the same time this year. So, while sniffing and swirling at a vineyard, Dimple Sister and Stray Cat met up with MiniMe, CounterCat, Center Counsel and Mrs. SwissAir.

 

In addition to being excited to see each other again, Dimple Sister was excited to meet some of the (blog) characters in my life. As we discussed the year of the rabbit – a year Dimple Sister will never forget, Counter Cat said, “I can’t believe you didn’t know about the rabbit.” “She doesn’t need to with me,” Stray Cat proudly replied. The discussion turned to namesakes and Stray Cat advised me, “I used to be known as Straight Guy.” “What? Straight Guy? Really? What’s changed?” I asked. “Not Straight Guy, Stray Cat,” he corrected me and strutted away. “Oh, Stray Cat. I see it now,” I said. I then looked toward Dimple Sister, we ‘winked’ with our dimples, took a sip of wine and celebrated the fact that they strayed this way.

Life is full of special moments. I had the privilege of sharing a very special moment with CounterCat the first night I arrived in Oakland.

 

CounterCat stopped by Center Counsel’s mom’s house to retrieve an air mattress and, in addition, received a bag of toilet paper. “Take this – I don’t like it,” his mom told CounterCat as she handed her the bag. “Why don’t you like it?” I asked. “It balls up in your crack and makes you itch,” she candidly responded. “So you’re giving it to CounterCat?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied and added, “Have fun this weekend.”

 

Fun was definitely in our plans and we kicked it off with digestifs in the kitchen with CounterCat sitting, as expected, on the counter. While discussing some of life’s most important matters – such as toilet paper selection, CounterCat had a ‘moving’ moment. “Was that an earthquake or did I just lose my balance?” she asked. Neither MiniMe or I felt the earth move, so we advised her she had most likely just lost her balance.

 

Once CounterCat regained her equilibrium, we decided to end the night right with one more special and rather unbalanced moment: the viewing of American Pie. I’d never seen the movie and both CounterCat and MiniMe felt it was crucial to my development.

 

I was able to sleep much better that night knowing that the toilet paper balls up, we didn’t experience an earthquake, and it may not be that big of a deal that I don’t play a musical instrument – especially the flute.

 

 

Immediately upon entering an “inner-city” bar, two things happened: MiniMe got ID’ed and I got the key so we could pee. Being that the bar was small and right off a main street, their was only one toilet and it was highly coveted.

 

With MiniMe in the bathroom, and two more ladies in line behind me, I advised them I was going to take the key back to the bar so none of us had to take it in with us. I quickly did so, returned to my place in line and, seconds later, a large black woman – with the key in her hand – shoved passed the two women behind me, and attempted to open the door. “There is already someone in there and there is a line,” I kindly advised her. She raised the hand with the key and replied, “I’m going in. I’ve got the key and I’ve got to pee.” “We all need to pee – that’s why we’re in line,” I told her. “Well I’ve got to go bad and I’ve got the key. You have to have the key to pee. Bar rules,” she snapped back.

 

At this point, the petite Asian girl behind me couldn’t take anymore and started arguing with the woman. I intervened and offered to let her go in before me. She accepted this offer (and most likely would have gone next even if I hadn’t offered), and as she shut the door the Asian girl started to say, “What kind of person…” Her friend immediately cut her off, “Let it go. She is three times bigger than you.” Seconds later, the woman opened the bathroom door, handed me the key (which was now wrapped with wet paper towels – one of the reasons I didn’t want the key) and immediately started “talking” to the Asian girl with her hands while yelling at her with mouth, “What kind of person? What kind of person? You want to finish your sentence?” I took advantage of having the wet key and quickly entered the bathroom so I could both pee and avoid a beating.

 

When I exited, and didn’t see her there, I asked the two ladies, still patiently waiting in line, what happened. “The bartender told her to knock it off and then told us she is crazy.” “Speaking of crazy, the key is right there and, as you now know, bar rules – you’ve got to have the key to pee,” I told them while gesturing to the towel covered key on the sink. Next time, I’m keeping the key to myself.

Immediately after landing in the Bay Area, CounterCat took MiniMe and I to her lakeside place of employment for cocktails.

 

CounterCat had a few things to finish, so we saddled up at the bar and enjoyed some of their house specialties – one of which is what we refer to as, “the bigger than your face margarita.”

 

As we imbibed, I noticed MiniMe was observing something with great admiration – herself in the mirror directly across from us. Thus, while others watched the games on TV, we watched ourselves.

 

“You like sitting where you can see yourself?” I asked her. “Yes,” she replied. “See this scar on my face?” I asked and gestured toward my right eye. “Which one?” she asked, not looking away from her reflection. “Which one? Really? This one,” I replied. “Oh, yes. That’s more of an indent than a scar,” she advised me.

 

As we continued to imbibe, I was observing the bartenders mix drinks. One of them was only wearing one glove and his zipper appeared to be down. “Wearing one glove doesn’t help matters,” I told MiniMe and added, “Just ask Michael Jackson. Or OJ, for that matter.”

 

Our bartender checked in and I alerted him to the zipper situation. “I tell him that all of the time. It is supposed to look like that,” he said while providing hand gestures for additional explanation, then said, “Bay Area Style.”

 

He then dumped a small Corona in MiniMe’s margarita and said, “Also Bay Area Style.”