Category: blog

As MiniMe and I were loading our luggage into That’s Not Chinese’s car, for a weekend with CounterCat in the bay area, a couple of hoodlums were cruising the neighborhood.

 

Unlike That’s Not Chinese and I, these hood rats were clearly not part of a good walking gang. Thus, That’s Not Chinese put her years of watching Law and Order to work, and followed the suspects while I placed a call to police dispatch.

 

After hanging up with police dispatch, I dispatched the neighborhood posse. Creme Pour Le Femme immediately responded and, within minutes, was on the scene with another neighbor in tow.

 

Bitchin’ Camaro and Addly deployed their troops and offered surveillance as well as stoopside presence.

 

Within minutes of sensing trouble, our neighborhood posse’s presence was more than double.

 

It’s nice to know that I am 1) protected and 2) not the only person willing to stop crime – in and out of uniform.

It’s been a while since That’s Not Chinese and I have ploughed through our city on foot, so we planned an “early” after work walk. Our original intent was to walk around the park, however, we instead walked to one of our favorite places – the library.

 

As we walked, we observed all of the great things a city walk has to offer: a gate with a sign that read ‘Beware of Dog,’ and, to the right of it, a wee little Yorkshire Terrier paying no attention to the outside world; shops (we actually did a little shopping, but only because we believe in supporting our local businesses, not because we are easily swayed; stoops that we wanted to commandeer; and flowers that we did, in fact, commandeer.

 

With our flowers in our hair (I chose three roses and That’s Not Chinese chose two snowballs and one rose), we finished our walk. Once back at That’s Not Chinese’s house we sat on her adirondack chairs, enjoyed a glass (or two) of wine, and discussed agriculture. Mid parsley and rosemary comments, That’s Not Chinese advised, “You realize you’ve got bugs…..” Having had rose bushes in the past I knew exactly what the rest of her sentence would entail, thus, threw my head down, tossed out the roses, and shook my hair profusely. Just thinking about it now makes my head itch. “Those aren’t bugs,  they are aphids – plant lice, and I am not having any part of that,” I advised her and added, “This is why I do not have rose bushes.” “Can you imagine if you had that rose in your bush?” That’s Not Chinese said and then MLOLed. “Nice maniacal laugh. Muffuary is over. I shaved. One more reason I will not have a rose bush,” I replied.

 

After ploughing through a bottle of wine, I told her, “I’ve got to go, and not just because the wine is gone.” And just as quickly as the roses were out of my hair, I was outta there….until the next time when, sans aphid infested flowers in our hair, we divide, conquer and plough through our city.

Lately, with the help of my friends, I’ve been making instructional youtube videos. The latest video featured Sleepless and I providing instructions on how to look like a polygamist wife. For some reason, this video will not upload – must be part of the Lord’s plan. Fortunately, the other very important instructional videos – related to champagne, cigars, cigarettes, barbeques and set lighting – uploaded without incident. Based on the number of views each have received (anywhere from six on up), I decided to come up with some other topics.

 

I did a quick google search and netted several ‘how to’ links. My favorite being ‘How to Touch a Girl.’ The intent of this link is to teach males when it is and isn’t appropriate to reach out and touch a girl. One of the terms they regularly use is ‘touch barrier’ and the link provides examples on how to break it, “Look for opportunities to break the touch barrier in a chivalrous way when you are together.” Interesting advice, but in my opinion, ‘touch factor’ and ‘chivalrous’ somewhat contradict. “Look for anything that may be on her face or hair…..Pull it off her face very gently…..Do the same thing if you see something in her hair like a piece of lint or a ball of dust.”

 

I love when my date pulls quarters out of my ears and balls of dust out of my hair. When these two things happen, I know we’re going places – I’m going home and he can go wherever the hell he wants as long as it isn’t with me. In order for one to avoid the latter, they need to remember, “even the most suave ‘touch moves’ won’t work if she’s bored or uninterested.” So true. Suave touch moves and barrier breakers are usually totally my thing. In fact, I’m updating my mismatch.com profile right now to reflect it. Should be a rather touching profile.

 

 

Last night I was the polygamist wife and sister of Ice Cream Man and Sleepless. Tonight, I ended the evening snuggled up with three men on my couch. Granted, they are all gay, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe.

 

It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with both Tree and FatGirl, so we planned a movie night. They arrived hungry, thus, we decided to walk to a ‘nearby’ restaurant. After a quick photo shoot on the porch and a lot of complaining by FatGirl “Walk? Really? Can we take a cab home? I’ll never make it,” we started our walk.

 

As we passed the park, where FatGirl once pushed me so high on the swing that my legs started flailing around and he saw things he wished he had not, Tree quipped, “Oh look, it’s snatchshot park.” “Let’s not repeat that today,” I replied, knowing the circumstances would be the same. We continued walking and FatGirl begged to go through the private parking lot from which Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I were recently chased out. “You complained about walking and now you want to be chased by a crazy man through a private parking lot?” Tree asked him. “Sounds fun,” FatGirl replied with a giggle.

 

We opted against ‘fun,’ arrived at the restaurant, and began contemplating the menu while waiting for Tree’s friend to join us. Our server approached, poured our wine and shared the daily specials. Apparently, while he was doing this, FatGirl had the same expression on his face as he did when he caught his reflection in Tree’s sunglasses – pure admiration. “Is there a problem?” Tree asked FatGirl. “Just checking out the scenery,” FatGirl responded to Tree while batting his eyes at the server. “Great. We won’t be seeing him again for a while,” Tree commented as the server blushed and quickly walked away. “At least we have the wine,” I replied and toasted them both.

 

Tree’s friend finally met up with us and, after dinner, we retreated to my place to watch a movie. We all cozied up on the couch with the comfy blanket atop us. The movie started and Tree’s friend began asking him questions, “What color are your eyes?” “Brown,” said FatGirl, “Blue,” I replied. “Hazel,” Tree responded and added, “You’re going to have to clarify to whom you are asking the questions because we are all pretty self-absorbed and, naturally, each assume you are talking to us.”

 

About thirty minutes into the movie, FatGirl had gone home, the other two were snoring, my eyes were still blue (and open) and I confirmed my Taylor Swift diagnosis: girlnextdooritis – where the guy (in this case, gay) is friends with you and that’s it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe.

Ice Cream Man has been out of town and Sleepless and I have anxiously awaiting his return. Last time he returned home, Sleepless waited for him at the airport with a sign announcing they were pregnant. This time, we decided to take it up a notch and dress up like his polygamist wives.

 

We started getting ready about an hour before his arrival time. An hour may seem like a lot of time, but when you’ve got to do your hair like we did, it was almost not enough time. Sleepless started with her hair first, “I forgot how good I am at this,” she told me while teasing her hair. No need to jump to conclusions, Sleepless was not a polygamist in a former life. She did, however, grow up in the eighties. A period when bumper bags complimented every outfit. As she continued to tease, she stated, “Polygamists clearly don’t have extensions and bald spots. Makes this hairstyle much more difficult.”

 

I attempted to tease my hair, however, wasn’t having much success. “The most important thing to know if you’re going to be a polygamist: rat from the back,” Sleepless told me, took the comb and said, “I’ll do it for you.”

 

With our hair in traditional ‘style,’ we donned our long sleeved, high-necked dresses, jeans, tube socks and sneakers and headed to the airport. We arrived just in time to greet Ice Cream Man at the baggage carousel – something that would come as a surprise to him because he was expecting to be retrieved curbside by Sleepless only; not inside, by his polygamist wives.

 

We stood near the carousel for some time before Ice Cream Man saw us; during this time, however, we were seen by countless others.  Most stared, some giggled, and a few approached us. “I can’t make eye contact or I’ll giggle,” Sleepless told me and added, “Besides, we’re not supposed to, right?” Not being well versed in the practice, I decided to go with my instinct, “Yes, that’s right, Sister.”

 

While we patiently waited for Ice Cream Man to see us, several airport patrons stopped by to converse with us, “I wish I could be here to see his response,” “You two are brave – if I had my video camera I would totally film this,” and, one of the best, “May I take a picture of you? My husband doesn’t believe your type exists.”  By the time the last question was asked, Ice Cream Man had spotted us, turned several shades of red, and met up with us – just in time for the picture. “Wow. How did you do this?” he asked us. “We ratted from the back, Father,” Sleepless replied. With that, the three of us walked out of the airport and into the sunset.

The other night, around ten or so, I received a text from On My Terms, “Home alone! Well, with the dog. But no senior citizens!, Oh, except me. You should march on up here and hang out with me! I’ll bake cookies!” I replied telling her I would come over and asked if I could wear my pajamas. “Of course. It is fashion du jour around here. I’m doing it.”

 

As I getting ready to walk out the door, she called me, “Wanted to warn you that the uncle just showed up.” “Should I not come over?” I asked. “No, come over. I just wanted to give you a heads up that he’ll probably be here for the weekend, if not longer,” she advised. This news put a dent in On My Terms’ plans to be senior free – something that doesn’t happen very often since she lives with her dad and grandfather.  I arrived to find one of our favorite shows, Betty White’s Off Their Rockers on the TV – appropriate considering the living situation – and On My Terms, her uncle and the dog on the couch.

 

On My Terms immediately offered me a drink, “I’ve got champagne. You can make a mimosa or just drink the entire bottle.” I opened the champagne, made a mimosa, then asked if she had a champagne stopper. “No. If I drink corked libations I usually finish them,” she replied.

 

We tried to watch the show, but her uncle was more interested in speaking with us loudly. He didn’t notice his volume, most likely because of his hearing aid. On My Terms suggested we do karaoke and he was ecstatic, “Do you have The Everly Brothers?” Unfortunately she didn’t, but since the words were projected on the screen, not knowing the band wasn’t an issue for him. While On My Terms and I sang into our microphones, he sang in the background. “You two are great. We oughta get you on The Ed Sullivan Show,” he told us.

 

As he retreated downstairs to watch TV, I asked On My Terms if she would be OK with him. “Yes, I’ll be fine. At least I don’t have to bathe him, like Grandpa,” she replied.

 

Five hours, several songs, champagne and cookies later, I left On My Terms with the senior citizen and returned home to find I, like On My Terms, was not alone for the weekend. MiniMe was waiting up for me and my alibi was ready, “I was rehearsing with On My Terms for our stint on The Ed Sullivan Show.”

A while back I gave LaLaLovely one of my winning condoms for a trip she was taking to New York. She called to catch up and, as we did so, we discussed emergency preparedness. We both decided that if a disaster hit, we would head straight to Bruiser’s house because she has water, food storage and guns.

 

“Do you still have that condom I gave you?” I asked her. “Yes, there was no way I was using it that weekend,” she replied. “Well hold on to it because you might need it after the disaster. Last thing you want is to have end of the world sex and then find out it isn’t actually the end of the world but the unprotected sex you had might end your world as you know it,” I told her. “Good point. I better stock up,” she replied.

 

A few minutes later I received a call from a coworker. After chatting about work for a bit we discussed our personal lives and weekend plans. I told him I had been texting with a guy who I met during a fake disaster and a lot of the texts alluded to sex. “Don’t give in. Make him wait for it. At least three dates – even if you have go on all three dates in the same day,” he advised. “So maybe schedule breakfast, lunch and dinner dates with him this Sunday?” I asked. “Exactly. Damn! This whole parenting and marriage thing is not for the gays. I remember when I would spend my weekends half naked at raves,” he sadly shared and then asked, “What has become of me?” “You got food storage,” I replied.

Many women are enamored with diamonds. Marilyn Monroe even sang a song and starred in a movie about them.

 

As most know, although I am ‘a lot of woman,’ I am not ‘many women.’ I am however, a lot like Marilyn. I’ve (currently) got blonde hair, I often don’t go by my real name, I slept with a president (of a book club, but still a president), and I am one of the world’s biggest sex symbols. Not everybody knows that last bit – I try to keep some things on the down low.

 

Like me, Marilyn is known for saying and doing a lot of great things. Regardless of whether or not they were scripted, they were nice. For example, “I love to do the things the censors won’t pass,” or “I’ve been on a calendar, but never on time.” Kindred spirits, me and Marilyn.

 

There is, however, one difference – rocks. I like rocks and she likes minerals. As she once sang, “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” I’ve never been into diamonds or other minerals. Rocks, however, I love.  I love rock n’ roll; rockers – on the porch, from the eighties and, every now and again, people who are off their rockers; the “Loves Me Like a Rock” song by Paul Simon; and plain, old rocks – igneous, sedimentary and metamorphic.

 

Thus, when TooStalky invited me to follow him to the quarry this morning, I donned my best red heels and ran out the door. We are a sight together – much like Marilyn and Charles Coburn in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I selected my rock and, as we were getting ready to leave, one of the quarry men complimented me on my selection, “Nice rock.” Marilyn was right, “Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world!”

MiniMe has been spending a bit of time at my house as of late and, as a result, gets to hear plenty from me about life.

 

This evening, D-Dog stopped by and MiniMe got to hear some of my stories for a second time. While in Manhattan, we were dining at a famous restaurant and a local television station was doing a story about their upcoming eviction. My gut told me they might film us for the story. “We’re the perfect B-roll,” I told YummYummy and added, “Two lipstick lesbians with their three boys and temporary moustache tattoos on their index fingers in a baseball themed establishment – it doesn’t get any better than this.” We then placed our index fingers above our lips and became the :32-34 seconds of the story.

 

“You seem to make it on the news regardless of which state you’re in,” D-Dog stated. “Demographically and literally,” I replied. “My teachers see you on the news and tell me ‘Your mom seems like it’s either her way or the highway,’ or ‘Your mom appears to be a good mom but I would imagine every lesson comes with a side of guilt,'” MiniMe told me. “Your teachers got all of that just from watching me for a few seconds on TV?” I asked. “I’ve known your mom for ten years and never got any of that,” D-Dog advised. I gave D-Dog a stern look with a side of guilt and then wished my temporary tattoo hadn’t washed off so I could do it with a moustache, for added effect, of course.

I boarded the plane home with the intention of finishing the book I started on the flight out. Within seconds of taking my seat next to the window, the flight attendant threw me a drink coupon, “Have a drink on us.”

 

A few hours later, I was. A couple minutes after that, another drink coupon came swooping into my seating area, “Have another on us,” the flight attendant told me.  I read my book, drank my wine, he approached again, and handed me another bottle of wine and a cup of water.

 

The gentleman in the aisle seat was beside himself, “Do you know him?” “No, but I’m getting to know him,” I replied as I shuffled my stuff around. He stood up and I asked if he was heading to the toilet. “No, but I figured you would need to after drinking all that wine.” He was right, I’d had copious amounts of wine and was due for a V.I.Pee.

 

Just before I entered the lavatory, the flight attendant advised me, “I may have to cut you off.” “Oh, no, I’m quite fine.” He agreed and, once I returned to my seat, brought me one last bottle of wine. The gentleman in the aisle seat was quite impressed and I was quite buzzed. In my opinion, it was a win-win(e) for everyone.