Category: blog

Bruiser’s husband turned 40 so she decided to host a party at their family cabin. As On My Terms, La La Lovely and I convoyed to the remote location, On My Terms got tired of following, so she passed La La Lovely and started following from the front. As we got closer to our destination we had no idea where we were and La La Lovely was nowhere in sight. “I guess following from the front doesn’t always work,” I told On My Terms.

 

We finally found the location and, since I didn’t have a birthday card, On My Terms generously offered up a picture of her nieces, covered in mud, “Just write on the back of this.” I did, and it was perfect.

 

Not so perfect, however, was a gift Bruiser’s husband once gave her: vibrating panties. “He thought they would be a really great idea. I could wear them anywhere, nobody would know. They had a little remote you would push and they would start vibrating and buzzing, loudly. Too loudly to wear anywhere and nobody would know.” “That’s a major buzzkill,” I told her.

 

I then realized, if we had convoyed with Bruiser, whether following from the front or behind, as long as she was leading us, pushing the remote, we would never lose her.

 

 

To help I Was A Stripper maintain one of her new resolutions, we decided to host a “dry” game night (hopeful). Typically, Boggle is our game of choice, but I Was A Stripper was also once on Touched By An Angel, so we opted for a game that involved acting – moods (nervous). If you haven’t played moods, you may never get the chance because it is no longer being manufactured (depressed). It is, however, the ultimate ‘all in the way you say it game’ (tense). Players draw a Phrase card and read it in the tone of the respective mood card so the other players can guess the mood/emotion (analytical).

 

It quickly became clear, after the first round in which I won, that The Leaver did not like to lose, so she really picked up her ‘game’ (crazed). “You had no idea I could act, did you?” she asked us (sneaky). Being that we were playing moods, we weren’t sure if that was part of her turn or an actual comment (perplexed).

 

As we continued to play, we all ended up winning a round (excited). “This night is perfect. Good food. The Carpenters. This game. Perfect,” The Leaver exclaimed (amused). “It is really good,” I Was A Stripper said (flirtatious). “There’s nothing sexier than a lawnmower. I’m going to start replying to text messages with phrases from this game,” I told them (amused).

 

Several hours after not really knowing what each other was saying or what mood we were each experiencing, we decided to answer the call to occupants of interplanetary craft, aka, bed from The Carpenters (zany).

 

I Was A Stripper is in between opportunities right now and decided to spend a few days with me. We invited The Leaver over and spent a lot of time reminiscing. As we did so, they outed each other on a few things. “I don’t drink anymore,” I Was A Stripper told us. “That’s good, you get into trouble when you drink,” The Leaver added. “I know. I’m done. I’m not drinking or DUIing anymore,” she said. “How long has it been?” I asked her. “Oh, God, let’s see,” I Was A Stripper said while thinking about the last time, “At least five days.”

 

Everybody has bad habits, some worse than others, The Leaver wasn’t exempt. “Has she ever cupped a fart for you?” I Was A Stripper asked me. “Nope.” “I’m surprised, it’s’ classic. She cups her fart and then she smells it,” I Was A Stripper told me and then showed me as if we were playing charades. “Wow,” I replied. “I can’t believe she hasn’t done that for you,” I Was A Stripper said. “I don’t think we’re at that place in our relationship yet – I’ve only known her for 15 years or so,” I replied. The Leaver returned to the room and said, “I love the smell of my own farts. Did she tell you she speaks French in her sleep?” “Gross,” I told The Leaver and then asked I Was A Stripper, “Do you speak French?” “Nope,” she replied and giggled. “So you’re saying she’s a sleepFrencher?” I asked. “Sí,” The Leaver replied.

Although most people relate phrases like this to the bible, I am not most people. Thus, I prefer to relate it to preservation. Previously, I had no involvement with such matters, however, after shopping at a local flower shop with Big As The Sky, I am a believer.

 

In the market for a plant or floral arrangement for a friend who recently had surgery, Big As The Sky and I found an arrangement that was both simple and beautiful. After ringing us up, the sales associate asked, “Do you want me to spray it?” “With what?” Big As The Sky inquired. “Crown of glory,” he answered while grabbing a generic squirt bottle with the words ‘Crown of glory’ written on it with a marker. “What is that?” I asked. “It’s a preservative,” he said. “Can you spray some on me?” I asked.

 

Although I didn’t end up being sprayed, the plant did. Once I was in a place where I could research crown of glory, I did so and learned that, horticulturally, it is more often referred to as Crown n’ Glory or Crown and Glory and is used to moisten the petals. Biblically, grey hair is a crown of glory and considered a sign of righteous living. Based on this theory, Big As The Sky has lived a very righteous life. Unless I lean towards preservation (which will most likely happen at the next Wednesday Night Hair Night), it will soon become obvious that I, too, live righteously.

Like a prostitute who ran out of gas money, I had to step out of my short-lived ‘retirement’ and return to work today.

 

Yesterday, as I mentally prepared myself for this event, I felt like a kid returning to school after winter, spring or, even worse, summer break. I did not want to do it! I wanted to continue to go to bed when I wanted, wake up when my body was ready and do more of nothing than I’ve ever done before.  Being that this wasn’t an option, I did what anyone would do: I looked at the clock, realized I still had several hours before I had to return to ‘reality,’ and agreed to go to a concert with 55 WPM.

 

When I picked her up, an hour before the show, she asked, while holding a beverage, “Do you want to head out right away or have a drink?” “Hmmm, really?” I asked. She gave a sly smile and graciously handed me the drink in her hand. As we continued to pass this beverage back and forth, she said, “I guess I could make two drinks.” At this point, it was really too late to dirty another glass, so we just kept refilling the one we had. As it got closer to the time of the show, we grabbed a flask, filled it with whiskey and headed out the door.

 

“Look at that full moon,” I told her as we exited her home. “Actually, it is an almost full moon. If you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy it even more with this,” she said and stuck her freshly rolled (in honey papers) cigarette in between her lips – something she hides from her daughter (back in the day she would have been hiding this from her mother). “Mmmm, I can taste the honey,” she told me and asked, “Do you smoke?” “Nope. Tried it in school, but never quite got the hang of it.” “Too bad, this is divine,” she replied. This comment reminded me of one of my favorite musicians from our high shool days – Divine. I’ve no doubt 55 WPM and I listened to him when we weren’t listening to OMD, Trans-x or Erasure, while driving around town, sluffing class.

 

Who we didn’t listen to in high school, was Maceo Parker, but we were ready to listen to him last night. We took our positions in front of the stage and, within minutes, Maceo came on stage and announced, “School’s in! Get ready to get funky!” We were more than ready and got completely funked up. As we were doing so, a couple of ladies started dancing next to us and thought 55 WPM looked familiar. “Does she type?” one of them asked me. “I’m sorry, what?” I asked. “Does she climb?” the women repeated. “Oh, I thought you said ‘type.’ I don’t know if she climbs, but she types 55 WPM. At least she did in high school,” I replied.

 

After the concert, we hit the drive-thru for some deliciously nasty fast food, parked in a nearby parking lot to eat it, and wished we had time to go toilet papering. Maybe we’ll do that during Spring Break.

In celebration of MiniMe’s 21st birthday, and my quasi-retirement, we decided to go to a local piano bar. The last time I was there they asked if there were any requests and I shouted out, “A new barmaid.” Luckily, the old barmaid didn’t recognize me and graciously seated us right next to the pianos and stage.

 

Being a regular at this establishment, I brought plenty of cash and accessories for the evening. Sadly, as Sleepless pointed out, we forgot the tambourine. Nothing worse than not having a tambourine to make the scene. Fortunately, we had our good looks, lots of Washingtons (George, not Denzel), and Sleepless’ lunch money (four one dollar bills and four quarters in a Ziploc bag) to get us through the evening.

 

As we were singing to the classics – Wilson Phillips, Twisted Sister and John Denver – Dr. BJ arrived, looking dapper as ever. One of the piano players was drawn to him and after several minutes of him being there, approached him and said, “Denzel, nice to have you here.” If you google ‘Denzel Washington,’ the IMDb description is tops the list and ‘Actor. American. Gangster. Tall. Strikingly handsome…’ are the descriptors. With the exception of gangster, Dr. BJ is all of these things.

 

As we should and would, we totally took advantage of this celebrity opportunity. Denzel, aka Dr. BJ, did his Single Ladies dance moves which resulted in us having every request played – even if we didn’t use Sleepless’ lunch money to pay for it. When Dr. BJ left, the piano player announced his departure, “Denzel is leaving us.” We, of course, stayed and closed the place down. As we were heading out, Sleepless advised us, “I’m drunk, but I’ve got a reservation.”

 

Unlike MiniMe, who wasn’t sure if she was going to go home or sleep at my house after the festivities, Sleepless knew exactly what she was doing and reminded us throughout the evening, “I’ve got a reservation for the small suite in the back.” Yes, Sleepless did have a reservation to stay in my back bedroom and had made her text deposit several days previous. MiniMe, on the other hand, just had expectations. “Looks like you’ll have to sleep on the couch or in the basement,” I advised her. Being a creature of comfort and a lover of dark spaces, MiniMe chose the basement. But who can blame her, it was the former living quarters of the famous Denzel, aka, Dr. BJ.

 

 

 

Being a single female, I don’t do a lot of cooking – in the kitchen or, sadly, the bedroom. Ice Cream Man once asked if I knew how to make eggs benedict, I told him I did and showed him how by calling out, “Waiter, eggs benedict, please.” I have, however, cooked things in the past. A lot of really good things, in fact.

 

Some of the favorites include glorified tacos, wacky cake, ebleskivers, raspberry chocolate mousse, German pancakes, clam (sans clam) chowder, banana bread, and scotch-a-roos. “You’ve told me about a lot of these things, but I’ve never seen or had any of them at your house,” Sleepless once told me.

 

Months later, as we were enjoying a glass of wine in the kitchen and chatting while I chopped vegetables for a salad, she had a quizzical look on her face and asked, “What’s that noise?” The noise she was referring to was the clicking of my gas oven in which the baked chicken was sizzling. “That’s cooking,” I proudly replied.

After spending several hours running around the weirdest park in the city with Baby Q and MiniMe, we met up with Weiner Whistle, Passed The Sniff Test, Bitchin’ Camaro, Dr. BJ and many others to bid a temporary farewell to Not A Skirt Chaser and Skirt Chaser. They’re both heading to D.C. to complete internships. Skirt Chaser plans to get a’head’ by dropping names and his pants. Not A Skirt Chaser just wants to experience the magic that is D.C. and politics; he  did, however, give name dropping a try, “That guy right there, head mechanic at Toyota.” Although knowing this guy may literally get Not A Skirt Chaser on the road, I’m not sure that dropping his name will actually get him places.

 

As we discussed their upcoming opportunities, many of the people at the table were distracted by and engaging with Baby Q. “You should have her around more often,” Dr. BJ told me, “she’s good date bait.” “You think? Maybe. I was a single mom with MiniMe and….hmmm, I’m not too sure that’s true,” I replied. “Not true,” Bitchin’ Camaro advised me and added, “Only works with gay men.” Dr. BJ was the case in point. “I already know a lot of gay men. In fact, most of my male friends are gay,” I told her. “Like I said,” she replied.

 

 

 

Note: Commandments are bible principles (and a 1997 movie starring Aidan Quinn – yum!). They are not, contrary to not so popular belief, after-sex mints for people into S&M.

 

As I’ve mentioned before (one fish, two fish, three fishes and loaves), I am not all too familiar with the bible. In fact, the closest I ever get to ‘bible’ is la biblioteca – which I love with all of mi corazon. I guess I could be close to the bible if I stayed at some seedy hotel that leaves command mints on your pillow and a bible in the night stand next to the bed that vibrates for twenty-five cents per minute.

 

I tried to get close to the bible once, via jury duty. I swear, I’m telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Sadly, that head in the clouds dream was shattered by a plea deal.

 

Sleepless, who was called for jury duty the same time frame and district as me, went to court and was selected as a juror. I was totally coveting her day in the jury box. It didn’t seem right that she was there and I wasn’t. After all, it is supposed to be a jury of your peers and we’re really good peers. Luckily, I didn’t have to covet for long because her time as a juror was short and she was soon back to work.

 

Unfortunately, I am yet, again, coveting. This time, it is my neighbor’s built-in bookshelves. Like I mentioned previously, I love la biblioteca and my neighbors have enough books and built-in bookcases to make Dewey dizzy. Being that I have no way of having what they have, I settled for sloppy seconds at la biblioteca where I found all kinds of goodness, including The Ten Commandments of Working in a Hostile Environment, Thou Shalt Not Dump the Skater Dude and Other Commandments, and The Pen Commandments. Since I haven’t gone to work for a while and I haven’t dated skaters (or anyone else for that matter) for years, I opted for the latter. Don’t covet. I’ll check it out and pen you all about it!

 

 

 

With That’s Not Chinese telling me about her upcoming date and The Leaver telling me, “You haven’t dated forever,” I decided I may need to make a New Year’s resolution. I probably should have thought about this prior to the start of the new year, so I could have been ‘official’ and conducted a burning bowl ceremony, but I have been way too busy burning vacation time to focus on anything that requires true effort.

 

All of this burning of time made me realize that the odds of me meeting someone, while confined to my home, were slim to none. I considered my outings and interactions during the past three weeks and realized my dating prospects were pretty much limited to library clerks and pharmaceutical employees.

 

Dating a library clerk could be dangerous for me, especially since I’m not at all keen on being shushed. However, based on some of the conversations I’ve shared with one clerk, my guess is he might like to check out more than just my books. I’ll keep this in mind since courtship for me is like Tree’s library fine, long overdue.

 

A pharmaceutical employee could also be a decent prospect. Depending on my health, we could see each other pretty regularly and, if I’m not ready to declare our relationship, thanks to HIPAA, I can rest assured it won’t be disclosed. That said, however, the fact that all of my medical information would be privy to the person I’m dating might be anxiety inducing. No worries though, there are meds for that.

 

So, go ahead, call me a hopeless romantic, but I believe I can experience a love connection with my pharmacist….while picking up my yeast infection medication.