Category: blog

By the third day with three kids in Manhattan, YummYummy and I were ready for a break. We sat down at a patio table in Little Italy so they could eat and we could drink when YummYummy said, “I’ve never done New York like this before.” “Sober?” I asked. “Well, that, and actually seeing tourists attractions,” she replied. It was true, we were only day three and had seen way more than three of the ‘Top Ten Things to Do with Kids in NYC.’

 

As we waited for the food to come, her seven-year-old told us, “There are three things I thank God about: eating, sitting down, wait, three: wifi.” Nothing like kids to put things in perspective. Our three things would be the same with a small change to the last few letters of wifi.

 

Once the kids got their wifi and we got our wine, YummYummy started telling me about her job. “No cute guys come into work and those who do have g-dubs.”  “G-dubs?” I inquired. “Genital warts. One guy had them on his perineum.” It was at this time that one of her kids, who was taking advantage of the wifi, got upset about losing a game. “It’s because you suck at it,” his brother told him. “No I don’t. Mom, why doesn’t he know I’m good?” “Not everybody realizes another person’s talent,” I told him then told YummYummy, “Do you know how many times I go to sleep at night knowing I’m untapped talent? After your work story, however, I can tell you three things I thank God about: my, untapped, talent.”

I’m at a place in my life where if I really want something, I do what I can to get it. If I need something, my determination increases and, if I’m on vacation, I add justification to the mix and I’m sold.

 

YummYummy and I were drinking with Good Eye Money Guy at the Lifshitz lounge when we inquired about hosting a private party. The bartender informed us it would cost $50/person, 25 person minimum. “$1250? We’ll do it tonight,” Good Eye Money Guy said and asked, “The three of us can drink enough for 25 people at that price, right?” “Duh,” YummYummy replied. As Good Eye Money Guy once said, “Your paycheck is my bar tab.” This night, our bar tab was his bar tab.

 

After our private party, YummYummy and I decided to take the kids to Empire State Building. “Do you need to use the loo before we head out?” I asked her like she was one of the kids. “No, I’m fine,” she confidently replied. So we hopped on the subway and made our way. By the time we got to the building we both needed to pee, badly.

 

We were approached by an outdoor sales rep asking if we would like to buy V.I.P. tickets to the building, allowing us an opportunity to go on the skyride and avoid the lines. “Will we be able to access a toilet, stat?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied. “Done,” I told him while handing him my credit card and, just like at the Lifshitz lounge, for $50/person, we were V.I.Pee.

 

 

 

YummYummy loves a getaway and decided we should meet up in New York City for the weekend. In an attempt to avoid me checking/holding my bags at the wrong hotel, she made a suggestion, “Let’s just stay at your hotel this time.”

 

Thus, I made the reservation and, because I was again arriving before her, I checked my luggage. Just like the time I left them there sans reservation, the staff were very kind. So kind, that they offered me an upgrade to a “Spectacular” view room and an early check-in (I’d arrived at 8 AM and they were hoping to have me checked in by noon).

 

I tooled around town for a wee bit and, around 11, they phoned to tell me my spectacular room was ready. I returned to my hotel and the doorman greeted me, by name. I could get used to this. I entered my room and found it was truly spectacular. About an hour later I received a call from the front desk, proper salutation and all, asking if I would grant YummYummy permission to have a key. “Yes, of course,” I replied and added, “Thank you for asking.”

 

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of children in the hallway and opened the door to find YummYummy’s kids anxiously awaiting entrance – one of them had a rather quizzical look on his face. YummYummy was right behind them, gave me a hug and said, “Our cab driver was a very black man.” “Probably still is,” I interjected. “Anyway, he (the quizzical one) was watching the driver, quite intently, then asked if you were brown,” she told me.

 

“That explains his quizzical look. I haven’t been brown since August. Decided to go back my roots. What do you think?” I asked. “Blonde looks great on you and I love your hotel,” she replied. “Spectacular, isn’t it?!” I replied.

While at a training today someone approached me and said, “Hey, I am so sorry I didn’t say ‘hi’ earlier, I didn’t realize it was you. After you made a few smartass remarks I realized it. Really sorry about that.” “No worries,” I replied and added, “Every now and again we see someone, think we probably know them, however have no idea who they might be.” That was exactly what was happening with me at that moment.

 

Later in the evening MiniMe convinced me to take her out to eat. I let her pick the restaurant and when we arrived we found That’s Not Chinese on a date. “Come over here. Join us.” We did and she reminded her date that she had met MiniMe on Valentine’s Day. “Remember?” she asked. Nope, nobody remembered because it didn’t happen. Awkward. That’s Not Chinese quickly realized her error, provided clarification and was saved by the waiter who approached, greeted MiniMe, then turned to me and said, “I remember you.”

 

“Yes, yes, you do,” I confirmed. “She was drunk,” he told the ladies. “Weren’t you drunk too?” I asked. “I was working,” he replied. “Hmmm. Pretty sure he was drunk,” I whispered to That’s Not Chinese. ” Once he walked away, I explained that he was my server the last time I was there – with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man after being chased off private property by a very angry troll.

 

As we dined, he would check in on us and, most of the time, the conversation was good. Like when MiniMe told us “I’m having sex because I’m agnostic.” “If I have sex it’s going to be because I’m horny,” I advised. “I have sex,” was That’s Not Chinese’s retort.

 

We paid our bill, tipped him well – because he was good and he remembers us – and made our way out the door, at which time he shouted out, “Stay classy.” Oh, we will.

FatGirl and I decided to go to the gym together today. Like most, we each have our routine, but I decided to check out his routine for a bit. He would show me a few exercises and then I would try them out. We headed over to the pull-up machine and I told him that would definitely not be something I would do. “I’ll help you,” he advised me. “How?” I asked. “I’ll hold your legs,” he said with great confidence.

 
I got on the machine and followed his instructions, which included letting him hold me near my knees. We did almost four half-assed pull-ups when he said, “OK, we’re done.” “I’m like dessert – heavier than you think,” I told him. “That was definitely all I could handle,” he said while giggling.

 

We eventually made made our way to the cardio area and started catching up while treadmilling (not a word or something either of us can do for a long period of time or without incident). He told me he hadn’t actually dated someone since 2002. I was shocked, but didn’t stop treadmilling – I know better. “Yep. I’ve just been having endless sex for the last ten years,” he told me. “Really?” I asked. “No, not really. I just talk about sex endlessly – there’s a difference.” “Good point. Lately, when I read my diary, also known as my blog, I’ve noticed I talk about sex a lot,” I thought outloud. “Just get in a relationship, then you won’t think about or have sex,” he advised.

 

We both laughed (maniacally), noticed we’d been treadmilling for a quarter of an hour, and decided to safely dismount. See, sex.

A while back the stopper in my bathroom sink broke. No warning, no backed-up pipes, it just broke. Being that my pipes are in a tight spot (that’s what he said), I haven’t taken the time to fix it. Instead, I removed the broken stopper and replaced it with a plastic drain protector.

 

Although this device technically protects the drain, it doesn’t protect much else. The other day, while primping, I dropped my eyeliner. The plastic drain protector was not centered over the drain and the eyeliner went straight down it. I peered into the drain, hoping to see my eyeliner, and saw nothing (other than the calcification of the pipes).

 

I centered the plastic drain protector over the drain, thought one last time about how much I liked that eyeliner, and called it good.

 

Two days later, I was doing a little ‘cleaning,’ when the Rabbit (I know, so last year) fell off the shelf, into the sink, causing the the plastic drain protector to move and the battery compartment to open, and two of my four AA batteries went down the drain. I, again, peered down the drain and, this time, saw the damage. There they were – stuck in the p-trap and completely out of reach. Guess if the batteries from my vibrator are going to get stuck in a p-trap, I prefer it be this one.

 

R.I.P – Trap. AAs. Although it might have been bumpy at times, we had a good ride.

It seems everybody likes to hide away little treasures. My grandma used to hide money in the purses she wasn’t using. When she died, secondhand store consumers got a major bang for their buck when purchasing one of her handbags – that is until Mama and her sisters realized what they’d been giving away.

 

Although I live alone, I still hide presents for friends and family. On occasion, preferably their birthday, I find where I hid the gifts. Being that there have been several times when I didn’t find the gift, I have started wrapping and tagging the gifts the day I get them. By the time I finally give the gift, it is a surprise for both of us.

 

I also like to hide desserts – sometimes from myself, sometimes from others. I once made a small pan of scotch-a-roos (a divine combination of peanut butter, butterscotch, chocolate and corn syrup) and hid it from everyone. Somehow, I forgot about it and found it about a month later. Luckily, the preservatives and container in which it was stored kept it in great shape. I decided to make these again just the other day and hid the last bite in the cereal cabinet. Apparently MiniMe stopped by, found it, and ate it. I came home, excited to eat it, and felt like someone who had robbed a bank, buried the bag of money, and returned later to find it gone – in it’s place, fresh dirt.

 

My most mind boggling ‘treasure’ is the lock to my shed. Last year I lost the key to the lock and, after a month or so of looking for it, I finally cut it off. To prevent that from happening this year, S-Unit purchased me a wordlock. When it arrived in the mail she had a word spelled out for me – some term of endearment that I cannot remember. I enjoyed that moment, then put the lock on the shed. Nine months later I have no clue what that word might be. Sleepless tried to help me crack the code so we could free my summer treasures – no such luck. Looks like I’m in the market for a locksmith who doubles as a wordsmith. Or, better yet, a bolt cutter. The latter has helped many people to other people’s treasures. This year, it may help me to mine…..again.

I was recently going through my box of chicken nuggets when I ran across an old resume. As I reviewed it, I seriously considered updating my current resume to reflect this format.

 

PERSONAL INFORMATION:

Age: 18

Height and Weight: 5’4″; 105 pounds

Health: Excellent

 

SCHOOL ACTIVITIES:

President of FHA – Future Homemakers of America

 

EDUCATION:

Skills Attained: Type – 55 wpm. Speedwriting – 40 wpm.

Office Machines: Ten-key electronic calculator; typewriter; computer; xerox machine.

 

As I reviewed these skills, I informed my part-time employer that my experience with office machines is clearly what helped me land this job. Considering they still use DOS, I thought this was a fair correlation. She, however, reminded me that, only three days prior, she had to tell me to flip the papers over in order to make a copy.

 

With the exception of my health, not much on this old resume is accurate, but the format is awesome. I plan to update it and submit it to as many companies as possible….just as soon as I get this bun out of the oven.

Sleepless and Ice Cream graciously offered to help me with yard work. I enjoy their company, so I graciously accepted the offer and paid someone else to do the work so that when they stopped by we could just hang out.

 

We hung out for some time, and then Ice Cream Man got an itch to do something, so I let him assemble a bench and picnic table. Sleepless and I helped him, mostly by checking in on him and offering to put ice in his glass while we refilled our own.

 

After “our” hard labor, we decided to walk to a nearby restaurant. Coffee cups in hand and a bottle of wine in a bag, we made our way, toggling in and out of the neighborhood streets. We approached an apartment complex whose parking lot paralleled one of the streets we wanted to toggle, so we began our trek across the lot. Almost halfway across the lot, I noticed a large, bushy grey-haired man who was barbecuing at one of the apartments and giving us an unfavorable look. “Hello,” I greeted him. “Where are you going?” he angrily grunted back. “What?” I asked. “Where are you going?” he repeated with the anger of a troll guarding an enemy bridge. “We’re walking to a restaurant,” I replied. “Turn around and go back,” he instructed us. “Why?” I asked. “Because I said so. This is private property,” he said like a really angry troll. We were pretty close to the gate, which would take us off ‘his property,’ so we kept walking. Just as Ice Cream Man made it through the gate, the angry troll ran up and locked the gate. Needless to say, we had words. Sleepless, not a troublemaker, did as the troll instructed while Ice Cream Man and I – troublemakers – continued to ‘converse’ with the troll. I eventually told Ice Cream Man we would see him on the other side, literally, and Sleepless and I did what many people have instructed others to do at some point in life – we went back to where we came from….and then met up with Ice Cream Man.

 

“If I had crossed that guy’s path when I was a kid I would have made it my daily goal to torment him,” I advised Sleepless. “Really?” she asked. “Yes. In fact, I can’t wait to walk back that way,” I told her. Not wanting to cause her any more stress, we opted against walking home that way and, instead, decided to enter my neighbor’s backyard because his gate was open. Just as we were making our way back, we heard someone shouting from across the way, “Hey! What are you doing?” Turns out my neighbor was across the way, didn’t recognize us and, like the angry troll, was about to lock the gate on us.

 

After two trespasses (a language I do not speak), we decided to lawfully call it a night.

Bruiser decided to host a girls night at her house, so On My Terms and I convinced Mini Sparkle Donut to join us. Prior to picking her up, we put together a plate of food for the party. Bruiser hadn’t given food assignments and, in fact, was rather blasé about it, “Just bring whatever.” Thus, On My Terms and I did just that. We put together a plate with a tortilla, half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a few carrots, a box of tic tacs, a few thin mints, applesauce, chocolates, pickles, olives, fruit leather, half-chewed piece of gum, a grape tomato and a package of mustard. When we arrived at Bruiser’s house, Mini Sparkle Donut completed the plate with a crocus that she picked out of Bruiser’s yard. This is how we earned the role of Future Homemakers of America in high school, I’ve no doubt.

 

The party was in full swing, which was a bit of a shocker for Mini Sparkle Donut, “Who starts a party at 6? Seriously. And we need to be on time? Wow.” Not only were we on time (which means about twenty minutes late), but we  were just in time for beverages and board games. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party like this before,” Mini Sparkle Donut said in amazement while snapping photos like a tourist. “This is what women do when they get together. Totally crazy,” I advised her.

 

By 9:30 many of the current homemakers of America were ready to call it a night and MiniMe, who joined us for the debauchery, was near death as a result of the fact that I failed to tell her to bring medicine and an inhaler. The inhaler would have been a nice touch on our plate of randomness.

 

Not ready to end this wild night, but wanting to make sure MiniMe lived to see another day, Mini Sparkle Donut, On My Terms and I returned to my house for karaoke and allergy medication. We sang several songs, posed for pictures, made videos and, by about 3:30 in the morning, we were ready to call it a night.

 

The next morning/afternoon, while stooping with Mini Sparkle Donut, Ice Cream Man and Sleepless, my neighbor waved and said, “Surprised to see you up already. Sounded like you had a big party last night.” “Oh, we didn’t have a party. There were only three of us,” I advised him. “Only three people!?!?” he said, shocked. “Yes, we were singing,” I replied. “Singing? It sounded more like screaming,” was his reply.

 

Mini Sparkle Donut quickly pulled out her video of our evening to prove that we were, in fact, singing. Somehow, between last night and this morning, it changed from singing to screaming and it definitely sounded like way more than three people.