Category: blog

When it comes to eating, I’m pretty much bi – I’ll go both ways. Meat, no meat; for the most part, as long as it is food I’ll give it a go. That said, I don’t do diets. I would much rather live than diet. For me it is all about exercise (the fake kind) and portion size. If I’m having dessert, I prefer a large portion. Bread, large portion. Wine, large pour-tion.

 

I was discussing this with a coworker who is currently on a salad and diet drink diet. I love salad. Diet drinks, not so much. Some of my favorite salads include arugula and beets, “When I see people eating salads with beets on them, I kind of want to take the beets when they’re not looking,” I advised her. We continued to talk about salad for some time and it was making me quite hungry. “Let’s go to that restaurant with your favorite beet salad,” she suggested. “Yes, let’s do. All of this talk has got me longing for their french dip sandwich,” I replied.

 

Once at the restaurant, she also ordered a french dip sandwich. We both, however, chose salad (with beets) instead of fries. A few minutes later, our server walked by with a plate of fries for another table. We immediately beckoned him over and ordered a side of fries. “What should I walk by with next?” he asked. “Dessert,” I advised.

 

When the check arrived, my coworker requested a takeout box for one half of her sandwich. “Where is your food? Did you not ask for a takeout box?” she asked me. “Are you being serious?” I asked her and added, while pointing to my mouth and belly, “My food went here, then here.” “You ate all of that?” she said in shock. Like I said, I don’t diet and you really can’t beet meat.

 

 

Ice Cream Man uses his TV as I would, if I used mine – he plays music on it. As he was busy playing host and making BeCuz, me and some of his friends cocktails, we watched/listened to concerts and music videos. A flashback to the 80s came on that featured scratch and sniff stickers. “I probably shouldn’t mention this, but my favorite scratch and sniff sticker was pickle. Second to that, skunk,” his friend told us. “I wish we could scratch and sniff some people’s profile pics,” I replied. “Too bad you don’t have a scratch and sniff pickle sticker now,” BeCuz said. “No kidding. I could place it right here,” he replied while smiling and pointing South.

 

After that flashback, “With or Without You” began to play. “This is a great song,” Ice Cream Man told us. “Do you know how many girls in high school I made out with while listening to this song,” his friend rhetorically asked. “Are you saying you made out with girls who are in high school or you made out with girls when you were in high school?” BeCuz inquired. “She has a good point. Good thing the attorney isn’t here. By the way, were you wearing your sticker?” said I.

 

We finally made our way to the concert and BeCuz and I took our position, in the front row. We had only been there a few songs when we started smelling something foul – a sulfuric fart. A few songs later, the odor was back. Everyone around us could smell it and only one person didn’t respond to the stench. I have a feeling he, too, was a fan of the skunk scratch and sniff.

Sleepless and I had the opportunity to work on a strategic plan together today – a task that was facilitated by Fru Fru Pants. These few factors alone would indicate trouble. Place us at a table with a retired cop, an actively employed officer and a state attorney and you’ve got way more than most people can handle.

 

In this case, ‘people’ would be anyone seriously trying to accomplish something. We were only a few hours into the training when the actively employed officer came up with a plan to escape, “I’ll fake a call from dispatch, tell ’em Purple Group (our assigned name/color) is on their way, and we’re gone. Where’s the fire pole around here?” His plan was good, really good. If we wanted to depart in style we definitely needed to slide down a fire pole.

 

Luckily, we broke for lunch and Purple Group decided to dine offsite together. Being that I had Dirk and ‘rockstar’ parking, I drove. We arrived without incident and, after lunch, returned to the training, also without incident; but not without near incidents. As I turned left I nearly had an ‘auto-ped,’ nearly. I didn’t see the guy. Could be because he was wearing camou, but I can’t be sure because I didn’t see him. “Don’t worry,” my passengers told me, “if something had happened we could take care of everything legally.” A few minutes later, on the same single lane road under very heavy construction, we came upon a man riding a bike. “Are the child locks on cause this guy needs to learn about riding a bike in construction.” It was about this time that we decided we should start a side business, “On the Run Legal.”

 

We returned to the planning meeting with new energy – lunch and entrepreneurial business will do that to you. While the state attorney recorded our ideas, the actively employed officer complimented him on his writing, “We should make a ‘state attorney’ font.’ I finished the flyer featuring the state attorney’s name and number and it was suggested we post it in the men’s room. “If it’s going in the men’s bathroom it needs color,” the actively employed officer stated and grabbed a marker. The state attorney was fine with this decision so long as it wasn’t posted near the first urinal, “It splashes up. I hate the first urinal. Whenever I’m in the stall next to it I have to watch out for deflecting pee on my Hugo Boss shoes.”

 

We then redirected our attention to the planning meeting and decided it would be a good idea to contribute. “Maybe we could change some names to more accurately reflect the definition,” I suggested. “Yes. Let’s call it a ‘yestary’ instead of a ‘notary,'” Sleepless suggested. “And a quick claim deed instead of quit claim deed,” I said and added, “While we’re at it, can we change it form ‘driver license’ to ‘driving license?'”

 

Actively employed officer, who had just finished explaining to the state attorney the importance of including our logo (purple smiley face) on our notes pages, looked at all of us with great pride and said, “I think we’re in a really good place, both as a group and individuals.” Purple Group. Peace (sign) out.

I participated in a fake earthquake today or, as we liked to refer to it, a fake quake. Being that it was a drill, I knew exactly what time it would be taking place which really helped me time out my morning routine, that I don’t have.

 

I arrived at our designated location to find the person in charge was nowhere to be found, nor was the coffee. After a few others arrived we addressed the first priority: coffee. Then, we inquired about our superior, “An emergency manual fell off of his bookshelf and hit him in the head. He is dead.” I did as anyone in this situation would do – pretended to get a phone call from my actual boss saying I was needed back at the office.  When that didn’t work, I moved the director sign to my desk and started delegating.

 

Within an hour we were receiving fake inquiries that started like orders from a personal trainer, “Exercise, Exercise.” Once we realized cardio wasn’t part of the request, we were able to make up really good “fake, fake,” information. Being that we didn’t know who was in charge, we took charge and created several social media sites. “What should we tweet?” one of the team members asked. “Have we received any exercise, exercise information from anyone?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “Hmmm. How about, ‘Wish I had fries to go with this shake.'” And so began the debauchery.

 

A few hours later, I received a text from our dead superior. “Exercise, Exercise. I thought you were dead,” I replied. A team member overheard that comment and, with a ton of guilt on his face said, “Oops. I was just kidding. Guess I shouldn’t joke about that in scenarios like this.” “An ‘exercise, exercise’ would have been helpful,” I told him while moving the director title from my desk and assessing the official credentials I had just received – a fake quake lanyard and a polyurethane badge holder sans badge. Transparency in government at it’s finest.

 

Twelve hours and a ton of carbohydrates and caffeine later, I still longed for fries with my shake. Instead, however, I think I best do a little exercise, exercise. On second thought, maybe I’ll just fake it.

 

 

That’s Not Chinese took on the responsibility of babysitting her nephew and did a great job doing so. She swaddled him, cottled him and breast milk in a bottled him.

 

Later, when her sister returned, she asked That’s Not Chinese how she warmed the bottle and, when That’s Not Chinese replied, “microwave,” all hell broke lose. Although microwaving breast milk  is not preferred – primarily because uneven heating may occur (possibly scalding the mouth) and it may cook out the nutrients – it is not likely to kill a child.

 

Nonetheless, That’s Not Chinese got the third degree (unlike the baby). “You’d think I was a common criminal,” she told me while we were debriefing on the stoop with wine. There are many things I would consider That’s Not Chinese to be, but common is not one of them. “You know when you were putting the dishes away and asked where to put some of them?” she asked and then said, “I wanted to tell you, ‘In the cabinet under the killing machine.'” That comment about the microwave might have killed her sister.

 

The next day, I was at my house getting ready for work and couldn’t find one of my boots. I searched my closet and room thoroughly to no avail. Perplexed by the situation, I decided to retrace all of my steps over the last few days. I had been procrastinating doing my laundry and, to make myself feel better, had thrown a pile of dirty clothes from my room into the washing machine. Not wanting to take the time to add soap and turn on the machine, I left the pile of dirty clothes, and my boot, in the machine, unwashed. Luckily, I hadn’t washed my boot – that would have killed me.

 

 

 

 

 

The local independent theater started a new event where they play old musicals and, for a ticket that sells for a slightly higher price, give attendees props for the show – much like Rocky Horror Picture Show.

 

Sleepless, That’s Not Chinese and I were immediately interested in this concept for a variety of reasons: 1) it’s a musical, 2) sing-along, 3) props 4) costumes, 5) refreshments and 6) a whole lot of other things, one of which includes coffee cups.

 

The three of us donned our best Sharks and Jets attire and headed to the theater to enjoy an afternoon of song and dance with Tony, Maria, Nardo, Riff and the gang. We arrived to discover that, besides the event host and hostess, we were the only people in costume. Others might be embarrassed by this, but we were quite pleased, especially when they held the costume contest and we won first (That’s Not Chinese), second (Sleepless) and third place (me).

 

The movie started and we got our props ready. Unfortunately, we missed a few of the ‘cues’ to use our props because we were mesmerized by the subtitles. Subtitles such as, “Listen jailbait, I’ve licked you twice, I can do it again,” and “In a tight spot you need all the men you can get.” These, of course, were fighting words, typically accompanied by dance moves.

 

Considering we can dance like the Sharks and the Jets, typically use ‘fighting words’ such as these, own leather jackets, got ‘props,’ and That’s Not Chinese recently gave us a name (CWG), I would say we are well on our way to being a singing gang….all we need now is a candy store.

 

 

 

Being the responsible people we are, That’s Not Chinese, So Hip and I decided to take a cab from a concert. I made the call and, within minutes, the driver arrived.

 

As soon as we got in the cab his phone started ringing. I don’t remember the ringtone, but That’s Not Chinese – who reported hearing problems as a result of the second to last song played at the concert – was hearing the ringtone and his telephone conversation with great clarity.

 

Apparently, he had dropped someone off and told him he would be right back to get them. When they called for the ride, he lied, and told them he was in a city approximately 15 miles away. “I heard that,” That’s Not Chinese told him. “I like you. Can I get your card?” So Hip asked.

 

The cab driver gave her his card and then told us about one of his best customers whom he drives around all over town,”I’m like her personal driver.” “Well you can be my personal driver,” So Hip told him.

As we arrived at That’s Not Chinese’s house, he decided to introduce himself, “I’m Randy. That’s Old English for ‘horny.'” We laughed, he made a couple of comments about boobs and drove away.

 

“Funniest cab ride ever,” So Hip said. “I would never ride alone with that guy,” I added. “No, never,” she and That’s Not Chinese said in unison.

 

‘Randy,’ pretty sure that is Old English for creepy cabbie.

MiniMe decided to join That’s Not Chinese and I for a night on the town. Like many girls with the gift of long legs, many of the dresses MiniMe wears look like shirts. Guess it is fair to say her dress really puts the mini in MiniMe. As she stepped away to finish with grooming That’s Not Chinese whispered to me, “You realize she’ll be going home with someone tonight and you and I will once again be going home alone.”

 

The odds for this began to change when we arrived at the restaurant. Our servers couldn’t be more accommodating – we actually only had one server, but one of the other servers continually checked in on us and even advised us to ask for him next time. This could be because he was working the other night when Har, Sleepless and I witnessed what we believed to be a three-way in the making. “It was more of a two-and-a-half-way,” he informed That’s Not Chinese, MiniMe and I. Between this and other topics of conversation, he and our main server enjoyed checking in on us.

 

On one occasion, our server returned to the table as we were discussing a friend’s feelings about facebook posts. Somehow, by posting on his wall, it gave others the impression that the posting party wanted to have sex with him. “Since when did posting replace poking?” I asked That’s Not Chinese and MiniMe. “It didn’t, poking is still a thing,” That’s Not Chinese replied with great confidence. Being that our server approached at this exact time, I asked him, “Are you a poster or a poker?” His face went red as he told us he was a ‘poster’ and did hand gestures to demonstrate a poke v. a post with a lot of girth. “OK, that is good to know, thank you, but we are referring to facebook,” That’s Not Chinese told him while we giggled. “I can’t believe you two,” was the phrase that continually left MiniMe’s mouth.

 

As our server was escorting me to the loo (only the best service at this restaurant) he advised me our non-server was interested in me. “Thank you,” I replied. I returned to the table unescorted – respectfully declined – and shared this news with That’s Not Chinese and MiniMe. “Of course he is interested in you, he’s gay,” That’s Not Chinese quipped. “Now who is the fruit fly?” MiniMe asked. “Oh, honey, your mama has always been a fruit fly. Look at her arsenal of gay friends,” That’s Not Chinese said. “Funny you should mention that,” I told her and added, “The other day Mini Sparkle Donut introduced me to her brother-in-law and said, ‘He is going to be your new bff.’ I asked, ‘Isn’t he gay?’ She replied, ‘Exactly.’ This is why I’m single. That and the fact that I post instead of poke.”

 

I stopped by LaLaLovely’s house to wish her a birthday and, because it is her birthday and she is heading out of town for the weekend, I gave her one of my winning condoms. “Thanks, I’ll put that in my suitcase right now,” she told me. A few minutes later, as she was cleaning out her purse so she could clear security, she pulled out a non-winning condom, “Look at that. Now I’ll have two!”

 

Right soon after this, her ex-husband/house sitter joined us. He immediately poured himself a drink – a combination of orange juice, Fresca and vodka. “I like to call this a frescrew,” he told us. Bet he’d like one of the winning condoms to go with that drink.

 

Once we all had our drinks, we began helping their son with his Smithsonian Prehistoric Monsters Kit. LaLaLovely was having difficulty reading the package of eggs and asked, “Can you see things close up?” “Yes,” I replied. “Not me. I had the Lasik and I can see good far away but not up close.” “Sounds like most of the people I meet at bars – they look good far away, but…” “Good from far, far from good,” her ex interjected. “Exactly,” I replied.

 

Between the four of us, we got half the triops eggs in the aquarium and LaLaLovely gave the boys several reminders to feed the triops once they hatch. Wanting to know a little more about these crustaceans, I asked about their role in the eco-system. LaLaLovely’s son replied, “They’re just for entertainment.” It was then that LaLaLovely and I, who have been sperm buddies since second grade, decided we, too, were triops.

Always wanting to enhance our potential, Sleepless signed several of us up for an art class taught by Ice Cream Man’s Mom.

 

I arrived fashionably late because they wouldn’t call it ‘fashionably’ late if it wasn’t both fashionable and artsy. Sleepless, Standard Time and One And Done were in grubs and ready to paint, so I grabbed my wine and we started the class.

 

Ice Cream Man’s Mom started with an overview of art, emphasizing the three most important elements (in order of importance): paper, paint and brush. As she explained the process of mixing the paint with water, One And Done was in awe, “I had no idea there was so much chemistry in art.” That surprised me as well. I specifically focused on a degree in the arts to avoid science classes.

 

Ice Cream Man’s Mom did not delay turning knowledge into practice and had us prepare our paper for the paint. As we were creating grids on our paper, she reminded us, “just two inches.” “That’s what she said,” I mumbled while measuring eight, I mean two, inch grids.

 

Ice Cream Mom’s Man continued to instruct and with each comment, there was school girl giggling. “I know you’ve got comments. What are they?” Standard Time asked me. I sent her a text highlighting some of my notes and favorite quotes, “I usually like to control it a little by holding it in my left hand and hitting it with my right. Most uncontrollable is a rigor. A long one is good.” I was, of course, referring to the third most important element, the paint brush.

 

“Remember to do a fast splash in the water when you’re dipping the tip,” Ice Cream Man’s Mom advised us. Fast splash. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?

 

As Sleepless began the ‘paint flick’ portion of the evening, she stated, “I’ll be a squirter for sure.” This statement conflicted with a statement she made once while we were on a walk, “I’m not old enough to be a squirter.” Regardless, I’m certain Ice Cream Man’s Mom thinks each of us are a hot mess, primarily, because I thought I heard her say so. Turns out, I was wrong, she was referring to a type of paper, hot press. Hot mess, hot press, hot flash, fast splash, can’t wait for the next art clash, I mean class.