Category: blog

Can’t Be Bothered flew in to spend the week with me and, since Not So Little Man was also visiting, she got to spend the week with him as well.

 

MiniMe is a fan of both of them and stopped by to say hello. As we were comparing schedules and attempting to spend more time together, we decided the best plan would be to meet for coffee the next morning. “I am so excited for coffee tomorrow,” Not So Little Man exclaimed. “What do you mean?” Can’t Be Bothered asked. “This morning when I asked if you wanted coffee you said didn’t like it.” “I like coffee, just not from a coffee pot,” he replied. “Where do you think the coffee at the coffee shop comes from?” she asked him. Before he could answer, MiniMe asked a question, “What do you usually get?” “White chocolate mocha,” Not So Little Man proudly replied.

 

At this point, the maniacal laughter ensued. The only person not MLOLing was Not So Little Man. “I’m not staying here ever again,” he told them. To his defense, ‘mocha’ doesn’t really sound like ‘coffee,’ rather, it sounds like some sort of chocolate that starts with the letter ‘m’ and it is really just a variation of latte, so it is a bit confusing.

 

In the end, Not So Little Man agreed to return some day and we decided to grab brunch. not just coffee. “You know, they will have coffee, from a pot, at the restaurant,” Can’t Be Bothered advised Not So Little Man. “Hey, Tony!” was his reply.

While movie marathoning with Not So Little Man, we learned some very valuable lessons.

 

1. Arriving early to get a good seat does not guarantee the seat will still be good later on.

 

2. ‘Flipping the bird’ is not well received by a lot of people.

 

3. Maniacal laughter is not just for fictitious villains.

 

We arrived at our first movie a few minutes before it started and, as a result, our only seating options were the first or second row. Not wanting to experience such screen proximity again, and with 30 minutes in between the two movies, we had enough time to smuggle contraband and select the perfect seats – left side, middle of the theater, multiple empty rows in front of and behind us. A few minutes before the movie started, a group of drunk teenagers entered the theater, assessed all of the empty seats/rows, and opted to sit directly behind us. Their drunk whispers and constant trips (literally) to the toilet didn’t cease – the entire movie.

 

When sitting near a group like this, it is tempting to let them know how you feel about their activity and, although it would have been easy to do so, Not So Little Man and I opted to stick to our new trick: the verbal bird. In the previous movie, one of the characters shouted out, “Hey, Tony,” and then gave him (Tony) the finger. So, every time, they (or anyone else from that point forward) did something unfavorable to us we just stated (or shouted depending on location), “Hey, Tony!” Doing so with a Jersey accent is required for emphasis and impact.

 

The last thing we learned is something we plan to incorporate in text messages, facebook comments and any other form of communication. Maniacal laughter, aka, ML. There are definitely times when spontaneous sound and/or movement of the face and body, which typically indicate amusement, could be taken up a notch with a little maniacal action. Instead of just LOLing, we plan to MLOL. While other people are LMAOing, we’ll be MLMAOing. And, just as you are getting up after ROFLing, we’ll just be getting started with the ROFMLing. If you’re not keen on our new laugh, well, we’ve only got one thing to say to you, “Hey, Tony!”

Not So Little Man decided to spend Spring Break in the big city. After several hours on the road, he arrived, ready to hit the town. We attended a conference with FatGirl, dined with Q and MyFace, and then attended a tattoo convention with Passed The Sniff Test.

 

Even with all of these festivities, we were home and in bed long before midnight. The next morning, we woke up around 9, ate breakfast, and decided to watch a documentary. As it started, I warned him of the power of my couch and chair, “They tend to make people very sleepy.” Five hours later he woke up and said, “There has to be something on this couch. I’ve never slept this long.” “I did have them spray a stain guard on them,” I advised him. “Are you sure it wasn’t chloroform?” he asked. “No, not really,” I replied.

 

We decided it might be best to get out of the house – even though my carbon monoxide detector has never gone off and the batteries are still functioning – and see a couple of movies. It has been a while since I’ve participated in a legal movie marathon; however, wanting to be a good example, we paid for both movies upfront. The first movie was good, a bit serious, but good. We decided to grab coffee at a nearby shop before returning for the next movie.

 

With our tickets and coffees in our hands, we approached the ticket taker. “Sorry.  No outside food or drinks,” she advised us. We stepped outside, figured out a way to conceal them in my purse, approached the ticket taker again, and she let us in – no problem. So much for being a good example.

I had the privilege of attending an all-day training with FatGirl and, even though we shouldn’t have, we sat at the same table. This meant the training, though beneficial, would be full of catty commentary.

 

As the presentations continued throughout the day, so did our comments. At one point, one of the presenters mentioned he was known as the ‘Gay Mexican.’ FatGirl looked at me with his eyebrows raised (NOTE: they are always raised – he gets them waxed that way) as if to say, “Hey! That’s my title.” I nodded my head in agreement.

 

During a break, FatGirl tried to tell me something he thought I said, which I hadn’t. “If you’re going to try and put something in my mouth don’t let it be your words,” I told him. He opened his mouth, as if he was shocked, and said, “I’ll tell you where to put that – in the blog!”

 

The training continued and someone discussed the word ‘flamboyant.’ Per her interpretation, the word had negative connotations associated with being gay. “I don’t think she really understands the definition. I’m looking it up,” I told FatGirl and Not So Little Man. “Yep, she put the flame in flamboyant. It means ‘tending to attract attention because of exuberance, confidence, and stylishness.’ Looks like you’re not the only flamboyant person in the room,” I told FatGirl.

 

FatGirl, who can be ‘short’ on patience at times, looked at me and, with all of the attitude he could muster (and his hands on his hips), said, “Don’t make me stand on this chair so I can punch you in the face.”

 

 

If it weren’t for children and wikipedia, my knowledge would be very limited. While babysitting my niece the other day, she asked if I like spiders. “I don’t mind them,” I told her. “What about barking spiders?” she asked. “I’ve never seen one,” I told her. “You don’t see them, you hear them,” she told me and then farted. “Did you hear that barking spider?” she asked.

 

My stomach is sensitive at times and, as a result, I am very familiar with barking spiders. For the most part, my barking spiders are ventriloquists – they tend to be more internal and have far more bite than bark. The other day, after eating with a coworker, we decided to ride together to our next meeting. I got in her car and we started to drive, however, she became distracted because she couldn’t find her phone. I offered to call it for her and, while doing so, got distracted by my ventriloquistic barking spider who appeared to be holding a staff meeting in my belly. “This is just great,” I thought to myself, “I hope she can’t hear it.”

 

Even though the barking spider didn’t relent, and seemed to be acting up every few seconds, she appeared to not notice. I finally figured out that, although my stomach was sensitive, it wasn’t a barking spider after all. Her phone was on vibrate and I was sitting on it.

I love parties. I love crashing them even more. Long before Wedding Crashers and Curly Sue, my friends and I would get dressed up on the weekends and attend weddings – sans RSVP and invitation.

 

That was years ago and not much has changed. While spending time ‘on the hill,’ I ran into a former coworker, L-Roll, who regularly has little cheesecakes, pies and what not in his possession. It is as if he is always just leaving a wedding reception – and bringing the refreshments with him.

 

This time, however, he did not have any desserts, but was wanting some. “I think I’m going to go get a cookie. Join me?” L-Roll asked. “I’d love to – where are we going? The cafeteria?” I asked. “No, better. Lobbyist Lounge,” he advised me. We walked out of the Capitol, down some stairs that appear to lead to a parking garage, and into an elite space with posh chairs, vintage lighting, tons of television screens and a kitchenette full of food. It was as if I’d gone back in time and stepped into a speakeasy, also referred to as ‘blind pig of blind tiger,’ and technology replaced the alcohol.

 

L-Roll offered to make me a hot drink with their Keurig machine. “I’ll make you something special,” he told me. While he did, I ate like a sighted pig – eating everything in sight.

 

We returned to the business on the hill and, a few hours later, a coworker mentioned he was in the mood for a treat. I gave him the lowdown on the lounge, reminding him we needed to keep it on the down low and then we made our way. Looking behind and around us with each step as we approached the door.

L-Roll met us in the kitchenette and, while we were snacking on cheese and crackers, he pulled a lint roller out of one of the drawers. “What are you going to do with that?” I asked. “I’m going to use it on him. When I’m done, I’ll lint roll you too, if you want,” he told me with a wink and sly smile.

 

Of all of the weddings and parties I’ve crashed, this is the first time I’ve received such offers. At least he ‘bought’ me a drink first.

My job is pretty serious. It is because of this fact that most people experience disbelief when they find out what I do.

 

As I was preparing for work this morning, I was thinking it might be funny to mix things up a bit and provide all of my responses via lyrics – spoken, not sung.

 

With today’s topic in mind, I thought this would be a good line-up:

 

Interviewer: What do you think needs to happen?

Me: I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside. Give them a sense of pride to make it easier.

 

Interviewer: How can the public help?

Me: Let the children’s laughter remind us how we used to be. Everybody’s searching for a hero. People need someone to look up to.

 

At about this point I figure they might be on to me, so I’d move on to a new song.

 

Interviewer: Where are most of the youth from?

Me: Been spending most their lives living in a gangsta’s paradise.

 

I would then pause, sigh and repeat. That line is a good one – worth repeating twice.

 

The big ending is important – you want to leave them hanging on your last word.

 

Interviewer: So, what’s next?

Me: Don’t you know? Things can change. Things can go your way, if you hold on for one more day. Yeah. Hold on for one day. Hold on…..

Ever since I was a kid I have loved communicating with people. My cousins and I would prank call people whenever we were at my Grandma’s house (long before the days of caller ID) and my friends and I loved getting on my dad’s CB radio and trying to get truckers to meet us at a nearby 7-11. We never actually met the truckers, we’d just ride our bikes there, buy a piña colada Slurpee, and hide across the street to see if they would show. Some did, some didn’t.

 

As I’ve gotten older and technology has advanced, I have graduated from the Kodak Tele Disc camera and the Motorola pager to Canon Powershot cameras and Motorola smartphones. You’ll notice the latter two are plural. Like my Tele Disc, which my friend accidentally drove over, my most recent cameras have been involved in an incident or two. For example, wine. A year or two ago I had my camera with me at a party. The safety strap was around my wrist – per Maverik Midget King’s advice – which put it in the perfect location for landing in my Dixie cup of wine. Like so many who consume too much alcohol, my camera had great difficulty operating in a functional manner after that incident.

 

I replaced it with the exact same camera and began doing what I always do – taking it with me everywhere; throwing it in my bag, sans case; taking pictures of anything and everything; dropping it occasionally; and, the favorite, putting it on make-shift tripods for ‘continuous’ shots. As had happened with previous point-and-shoots, my zoom feature was starting to stick and the quality of the photos on which zoom was used was lacking. Not one to easily give up, I continued to use the camera.

 

Sadly, while On My Terms and I were on our 20th set of three continuous shots of us doing karaoke, my camera experienced a terrible fall. We had just placed it on top of the flat screen TV tripod and pressed the continuous timer when it teetered off the top of the TV and landed lens down on the ground. I ran toward it, but it was too late. The lens was stuck in a dented outward position. “What are you going do do without a camera?” On My Terms asked. “I’ll have to do what I did at the David Sedaris book reading – sketch the event,” I replied.

 

With so many important events around the corner, specifically, National Corndog Day, I really need to replace my camera. I was sharing this information with Not So Little Man and he asked, “What good are you without your camera?” He was right. I have been documenting things for years and cameras have been my most consistent medium. “It’s like not having a voice,” I told Not So Little Man. “Well, a picture is worth a thousand words,” he quipped.

The other morning my work phone woke me. I did as Opreggano loves and answered it in my most professional voice. I received this response, “We want to come and see my brother before you cremate him.” There were several responses I wanted to provide, such as “Too late,” and “I stopped doing cremations years ago.”

 

Instead of going with my very hungry gut, I did my best to get the person to someone who could provide coffin closure, then had a cup of coffee and some leftover macaroni and cheese. As I looked at the noodles and coffee pot, I started thinking about urns and cremation. My parents believe those who do not accept/believe in Christ may burn during the second coming. I’ve told them my preference for cremation works perfectly with their believes because, whether I die before or during the second coming, I’m burning.

 

According to science and my current weight, I’ll be burning for two-three hours. If you’re thinking about a cremation double date, think again. Cremating more than one body at a time is illegal and a normal sized chamber can’t handle more than one adult at a time – little people may be able to get an exception.

 

Once my body is reduced to bone fragments, it will be placed in an urn or a temporary plastic container. I don’t know why the plastic container has to be temporary. I’ve got a couple of really nice containers from The Container Store that would work great – they stack securely to conserve space and are freezer and top rack dishwasher safe (unlike Silverman).

 

For me, cremation just makes sense. It allows me to die the way I lived, surrounded by heat and flames.

 

 

 

 

Living near your friends is a great benefit. While running a few errands, I stopped by Alice’s house to retrieve some library items and, five hours later, ended up going home without running any errands and feeling great.

 

Alice had been busy in the kitchen again, making a drink with vodka, wine and oranges. Although she told me the name of the drink, it was something I couldn’t pronounce or remember. I have a feeling it may rhyme with dooba la chay. Regardless of what it was called, it tasted delicious. She, Hot Mustard and I had several glasses prior to walking to their favorite Japanese restaurant for dinner.

 

The restaurant had only been open a half hour and already appeared to have quite a wait. Although there were several empty tables, one of which was right next to where we were waiting, they didn’t seat us for some time. “Is our name on the list?” I asked Hot Mustard. He walked over, checked out the list, returned to Alice and I and said, “Yes, it says ‘three.'” “Three?” Alice asked. “Yes, three,” Hot Mustard confirmed.

 

“From now on our reservation name should be three; regardless of how many of us are dining,” I advised them. “Great idea. ‘Reservation for Three, party of eight,'” Hot Mustard quipped. Shortly after that, Three was called, we were seated and our new Three way became official.