Category: blog

MiniMe has reached an incredible milestone in her life – the legal drinking age. In many ways, this is like Groundhog Day for MiniMe because she has reached this milestone before, while traveling abroad. Even still, it is a special day for her.

 

Several hours after the liquor store opened, MiniMe sent me a picture of a bottle of Brut Rose Sparkling Wine with this caption, “My first purchase as a legal 21.” “Hmmm,” I thought to myself and was reminded of the time she drank Jameson in Ireland and then asked, “Are you disappointed that I drank or that I drank Jameson?” MiniMe continued to text me, telling me the liquor store employees wished her a happy birthday and mentioned they are “always very helpful.” “Always?” I asked and reminded her today was supposed to be her first purchase. Legal purchase is probably more appropriate.

 

We went to dinner to celebrate her coming of age, however, I let her hold on to her Rose for something special and brought a bottle of Malbec to share. When the server asked how many glasses we would be needing, That’s Not Chinese replied, “Four.” I corrected her, “Just three, please.” That’s Not Chinese was surprised that Striker wouldn’t be drinking and asked him, “How old are you?” “Nineteen,” he replied. “My God, you are your mother’s daughter,” That’s Not Chinese told MiniMe. A little while later, That’s Not Chinese was telling us about an upcoming date. “How old is she?” I asked her. “35,” That’s Not Chinese replied, forgetting her earlier comments. “Maybe MiniMe is your daughter. Cougar,” I stated.

 

MiniMe was telling us all about her day and how good everyone had been to her – including the employees at the restaurant where she had lunch. “They gave us 60% off the cake we purchased because it’s my birthday.” “Are you sure it wasn’t because it was day old, like you?” I asked. MiniMe pouted her lower lip (just like she did when she was only one day old) while That’s Not Chinese, Striker and I giggled. As much as we would like to think they gave a birthday discount, none of us were born yesterday.

Not wanting to make too big a deal out of last year’s end and this year’s start, I considered starting a fundraising campaign – much like Wikipedia’s – asking for money to keep me afloat for another year. Why? You might ask. Well, like Wikipedia, your support (yes, all four of my readers) is how I pay my bills. Unlike Wikipedia, I am not the #5 most-popular site in the world. As I browsed through some pictures from last year, however, I determined that I am a sight to see – as are my friends (many who are also known as the ‘four readers’).

 

Just as I was about to start my fundraising campaign, I was joined by That’s Not Chinese for a mellow evening of dining, drinking and watching movies. Being that our celebrations would be minimal (no campaign money), I purchased a few items from the holiday clearance section. As I was showing her our special shirts for the evening she noticed some of the other items. “Uh, what are those?” “Clearance chocolates,” I proudly replied.

 

With our “Happy New Year” t-shirts, wine and clearance chocolates in hand, we watched a little bit (the entire 90 minutes) of Grey Gardens. “Wow,” seemed to be That’s Not Chinese’s most common response to the show. As soon as it ended, she began singing, “Tea for two and two for tea…” Next thing you know, we went from watching movies to making movies with our special tribute to Edie and Edie. As we were on the second or third take of Tea for Two, That’s Not Chinese lost her composure. “I’m peeing and crying at the same time,” she said while doubled over and making her way to the bathroom. I have a feeling she’ll resolve not to do that again next year, however, as Big Edie once said when the cat peed on the picture, “..at least someone is doing what they want.”

 

When That’s Not Chinese resolved her situation, we began watching Midnight in Paris. We figured if we couldn’t be in Paris physically, we might as well be there digitally. “Why don’t we live in Paris?” she asked. I made a quick assessment of the perimeter and replied, “Because we have really great furniture?” With the exception of wanting to live somewhere else within the next year, I really don’t have anything I need to resolve in 2012. I did, however, have something to resolve in 2011 – my 1999 bottle of Dom Perignon, courtesy of S-Unit.

 

Thus, That’s Not Chinese and I popped open the bubbly and headed outside to enjoy the neighborhood fireworks. As soon as the other neighbors saw we had Dom, they were either guzzling or dumping out their champagne to have some of ours. With at least five Dom carrying neighbors in tow, we walked to Alice’s house to wish her a happy and loud new year. Just as we approached her house, a light went out and a lightbulb in our heads went on. “She’s home,” one of the neighbors shouted. And so began the new year, much like many other years, with me and a bunch of my friends on the stoop of another friend’s home – drinks in hand.

 

 

Outside of the sun doing a bit of an about-face, nothing big ever really happens on solstice. Thus, based on my experience and Wikipedia research, I’m predicting December 21, 2012 will be a lot like Y2K – a lot of t-shirts, fireworks, and hype about a calendar. There may even be a Hollywood movie.

 

It’s too bad everyone can’t be as carefree about calendars as Sleepless. This year for Christmas, she gave me a calendar with pictures of us on it. The calendar year? 2011. Sleepless has a lot in common with the honey badger – she don’t care. “This is perfect,” Skiwi told me. “It’s like a European calendar – their weeks start on Monday. Nothing wrong with this calendar. Don’t let the year on the top confuse you.”

 

Like many of the clothes that I wear and love, my new calendar is so last year and will go perfectly in my front room, next to the clock set to a different time zone.

Many things are spiked during the holidays: domestic abuse rates, questions about religion, punch/beverages, and time with family and old friends. When given the option, I select the spiked beverages and old friends. By old friends, I mean old in age and time. I’m not ashamed to say my friends and I are old. As I once told Q, “I’d rather be old than mature.”

 

Thus, to stay in sync with the holiday trends, On My Terms, Bruiser, La La Lovely and I all gathered for spiked beverages and lunch. So Hip was supposed to join us, however, she forgot – age does that to you. After four hours of spiking the interest of the patrons around us, with our loud laughter and carefree nature, we felt it would be best to continue the libations at my house.

 

Prior to making it home, BamRight?!?! called and invited us to join him for drinks in Bruiser’s neck of the woods. It’s been a while since we’ve imbibed with him, so we accepted the offer. BamRight?!?! has a bit of a fascination with swinging and has a routine of having the bartender point out the swingers in the bar. “You know I put a couple of white rocks in my front yard,” he advised me. “Good. Now you just need to start wearing white sneakers. Something solid like New Balance or Asics,” I advised him. “Do swingers wear New Balance?” Bruiser asked. “It seems to be a common accessory,” I replied. “I used to have some of those,” Bruiser told me.

 

Around this time, BamRight?!?!’s friend had joined us and was discussing napkin placement, which lead to a discussion about bandanas and the hanky code. “How do you know all of this?” BamRight?!?! asked. “Research,” I replied. His friend then stole a napkin from another patron and put it in his pocket. “Best be careful. If you’re not into ‘hanky panky’ you might want to take that out of your pocket,” I advised him. He quickly returned the napkin to the male patron and claimed he had no idea about the hanky code. Right. Just like he had no idea he is gay.

 

Nine hours after we began our imbibing, Bruiser and I decided to call it a night. “We’re going to my house to watch scary movies and cuddle up under a blanket,” Bruiser told the guys. “Can I join you?” BamRight?!?! asked. “No,” Bruiser and I both told him.”But we’re old friends and that’s what old friends do,” he tried to convince us. “Yes, we are old friends and none of us were born yesterday,” I told him and added, “Besides, we’re not wearing white sneakers.” As we got in the car we noticed the night was the opposite of us – still very young. Yep, we really are old…friends.

Per MiniMe’s request, Opreggano and I brought back Wednesday Night Hair Night. This was a weekly event, for at least at year, that was postponed, for at least a year, due to the need for a stylist. Luckily, during the past year, we have become acquainted with a lot of great stylists who were open to the idea of hairspray in their food and wine.

 

Thus, MiniMe, Opreggano, Alice and I got together for a little primping. Our stylist of the evening was Oh Wow. As Oh Wow wowed us with her efficiency, we wowed her with our drinking abilities. Alice and Opreggano were discussing previous evenings involving imbibing while I made the corn chowder – I’ve given up on clam chowder because I always forget the clams. Midst listening, Oh Wow was taking pictures of my glass recycling.  “Did you hear what I told her?” Alice asked me in reference to a comment she had made to Oh Wow. “No. What?” I asked. “I told her she wasn’t as good of a drinker as us,” Alice told me. “Hmmm,” I replied while sipping my glass of grigio, wondering if being ‘as good of a drinker’ was really a good thing, and debating whether or not to add some of my wine to the chowder – in place of the clam juice, of course.

 

I had contemplated going platinum – like my albums and credit cards, but due to time restraints I only ended up getting a cut – like my pay. Opreggano, however, had previously requested both a cut and color, so Oh Wow sat her in the chair, put the cape on her and asked, “What color are we doing?” “I was thinking 4N or…” Opreggano began to respond. “I only brought 4N,” Oh Wow replied. “I guess I’ll have 4N then,” Opreggano said. And this is how it goes on Wednesday Night Hair Night.

 

After Opreggano rinsed her hair, she sat in the chair for a cut. Oh Wow assessed the color and said, “Oh, wow. It worked.” “Always reassuring to hear that from your stylist,” I replied. Alice, who had brought a picture of a cut she had been desiring, ran her fingers through her hair and exclaimed, “My hair is really short!” Yes, both Alice and Opreggano got exactly what they had requested and both got shocking responses (their own and others) to their new do.

 

On a previous gathering, Alice had left her one of her favorite movies, My Fair Lady, at my house and I thought it might be nice to watch it while we hairdid, wined and dined. Unfortunately, Alice has not yet retained the concept that my front room is in a different time zone and, as a result, headed home after only being at Wednesday Night Hair Night for a couple of hours – no time for the movie. When she arrived home, she sent a text, “OK, your clocks messed me up.” I’m pretty sure it was the wine, not the time, that messed her up and caused us all to question the ‘as good of a drinker’ declaration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been burning vacation time the last few weeks and have found that doing nothing is exhausting. Day after day, night after night, I have, for the majority of the time, done absolutely nothing.

 

Fortunately, I started my time off right, with a large selection of DVDs and CDs from the library. Thus, in the hours I am not sleeping, I spend a lot of my time watching old movies and documentaries or listening to ‘new’ musicians. ‘New’ for me is anything after 2005/2006. That said, however, I did watch a few ‘new’ films from the 1960s/1970s.

 

S-Unit also decided to take some time off of work, so we were discussing how we have been spending our time. “I have found that doing nothing is exhausting,” I told her. “Tell me about it,” she said and added, “My knees are killing me from sitting on the couch and watching TV for five hours. Well, I’ve got to go, I need to finish this show.”

 

Before going to bed, I decided to watch a couple more movies. Being that it has been a while since I’ve worked, I chose Working Girl and Office Space. Both movies focus on people being fed up with work conditions and taking ‘action.’ Tess (Melanie Griffith) walked out on one of her jobs and then received advice from her personnel director, “Tess, Tess, Tess, Tess. You don’t get ahead in this world by calling your boss a pimp.” Turns out that wasn’t true. Peter (Ron Livingston) also walks out on one of his jobs, but returns temporarily and is approached by his coworker, Michael Bolton, who asks what he did while out of the office. Peter replied, “I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing and it was everything that I thought it could be.” I’m right there with you Peter.

 

 

 

Lately, I cannot get enough of Grey Gardens. In fact, I’m a bit disappointed in myself for not knowing about this documentary and, years later, the movie about Big and Little Edie Beale.

 

The documentary has become a cult classic – especially for those in the fashion industry. Little Edie is world known for her “best costume for the day” quote, however, one should not just settle for that little bit of eccentric wisdom. Rather, one should watch both Grey Gardens and The Beales of Grey Gardens for what they will find is hours of incredible footage, wit and wisdom.

 

After watching both documentaries (twice), I decided to have MiniMe watch them with me over the holidays. I’ve had her watch shows like these with me before, in an attempt to provide a tangential learning experience, per say. Other films I’ve had her watch include Mommie Dearest, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and Rocky Horror Picture Show. In addition to being cult classics, these films/documentaries provide great life lessons.

 

For example, in Mommie Dearest, one learns the importance of not using wire hangers and tweezing one’s eyebrows. In Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, one learns age is not always kind, nor is jealousy. In Rocky Horror Picture Show, one learns the value of AAA and wearing clean underwear.

 

In Grey Gardens, one learns “There are some nice people in the world, you know, I just don’t happen to be related to any of them;” not wearing clothes for two years may cause weight gain; “You get very independent when you live alone. You get to be a real individual;” and calling out “Mother, darling…” is totally different from referring to your mother as ‘Mommie Dearest.’

I love to learn. For the most part, I prefer and continue to learn via play – which is believed to be the first (and, in my opinion, most entertaining) form of learning. I also, however, have learned a lot informally, experientially and tangentially. I guess one might say I am an informal, tangential, experienced player.

 

On Christmas Eve I learned (or was reminded), from experience, that dressing appropriately (not to be confused with ‘dressing up’) for events is extremely important. That said, however, I was dressed appropriately for iHOP. Nonetheless, I made sure I was dressed appropriately for a celebration of Christmas and Black Jesus’ birth – if you are not aware of who Black Jesus is, he is none other than Dr. BJ.

 

A month or two ago I was at a secondhand store and stumbled upon a gift that I know will keep giving for years to come – a handmade, off-the-shoulder, Civil War Southern Belle style, Christmas plaid taffeta dress. I thought for sure it would cost as much as, if not more than, the secondhand Christmas sweaters ($10 each) I was buying and was shocked to see it was only $3. For this price, I didn’t even bother trying it on. If I couldn’t wear it, I would find someone who could or sell it on ebay. I learned, tangentially, that dresses like this are selling on ebay for anywhere from $68 to $149.

 

As one might be able to guess, all of the guests (MiniMe, That’s Not Chinese, Skiwi, DDDG and Dr. BJ) were quite taken by the dress. “I swear I have napkins made of that material,” That’s Not Chinese told me. “I have a table runner,” Dr. BJ advised her. “I made MiniMe a dress exactly like this years ago,” I advised. “Yes, she did,” MiniMe concurred. “You look like,” DDDG started to say and then asked Skiwi, “Who is the lady with all of those little boys?” “Snow White?” Skiwi replied. “Yes, Sněhurka,” DDDG said.

 

“Sněhurka? Hmmm. By the way, are you familiar with tutka?” I asked her. “No, no idea,” she replied. I then told them the story of the tutka and my experience on Christmas Eve. I shared with them the fact that the homeowners (just because you spend Christmas Eve with someone, in the comforts of their home, does not mean you should know them or their names) adopted a child from China and, when she first arrived in America, she had abdominal distention due to malnourishment (something I learned about on cable). “Like my stomach,” That’s Not Chinese said while rubbing her belly. “That’s not Chinese or malnourishment,” I replied.

 

Somehow, the conversation turned to a book that Skiwi recently checked out from the library, “‘How to Make Love Like a Porn Star: A Cautionary Tale,’ by Jenna Jameson. I read it in two days. 500 pages.” “It’s true. He skims a little bit,” DDDG advised. “There were pictures in the page count,” he advised. “Who is Jenna Jameson?” Dr. BJ asked. As Skiwi and I were trying to enlighten Dr. BJ, That’s Not Chinese opened her television stand, pulled out a DVD, and handed it to Dr. BJ. “That’s Jenna,” she said. Sure enough, that was Jenna. Dr. BJ quickly learned, tanJennatially, about the queen of  porn.

 

Once we finished our dinner, dessert and wine, we all headed home and, like Sněhurka after she bit into the apple poisoned by the queen (of fairy tales – not porn), fell into a deep stupor.

Christmas Eve day, also known as this afternoon, was spent with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man. We had talked about going out for drinks, but then I decided I wanted to try a few new cocktail recipes, so we met at my house instead.

 

They arrived to find me doing what most domestic goddesses do on afternoons such as this – don an apron and asses one’s alcohol inventory while enjoying an ivory mocha. “Welcome, welcome,” I told them as they made their way through the front door. “I was just about to make Glögg.” “What is Glögg?” Sleepless asked. “It’s a warm, traditional Scandinavian Christmas drink,” I advised her. Funny how a recipe book and an apron make one feel smart in the kitchen – location, location, location. “Does it have alcohol in it?” she asked while glancing at the wide array of bottles on the counter. “Yes it does – three different spirits to be exact.” “Sounds great!” she replied. To make the day even more special, we opted to use souvenir glasses from bars and restaurants (that clearly don’t have security cameras) we have frequented.

 

As we enjoyed the Angel’s Kick (or was it Angel’s Kiss?) and the Glögg, we opened our presents to each other. Little Sleep helped with the shopping and selected a shirt for me that read, “No boyfriend. No problem.” In the center was the universal symbol of a man with the universal ‘prohibition’ circle surrounding it. “This is perfect. I plan to wear it to dinner with my parents tonight.” They then left (1970s thermos – my special gift to Ice Cream Man – in hand and full of adult beverages) to attend Ice Cream Man’s family party.

 

I got the call from my parents that we were going to iHOP with my sister and her kids. “I figure the kids can eat pancakes,” my mom told me. “iHOP? What happened to the Greek burger joint?” I asked. For years my family had Christmas Eve dinner at a local fast food Greek restaurant. Not being wise to the Greek Orthodox beliefs, I just assumed the Greeks didn’t celebrate Christmas and I was extremely appreciative of that because their fries are excellent. “The menu at iHOP has changed,” my mom advised me and continued, “They’ve got quite a few really good items now.” “Hmm, maybe. I really only eat there when I’m hungover and it tastes good then, so, let’s do it,” I told her.

 

Fortunately, my sister’s neighbors were having an open house and didn’t have the turn out they had expected. They’re from Wisconsin and are used to big, friendly, semi-formal, neighbor and family gatherings – their neighborhood and this state aren’t use to such splendor. They graciously extended an invitation to us (the french toast combo will have to wait) and welcomed us with well-dressed open arms. They were donning dress shirts and pants, ties, and holiday dresses. Not us. Twas the night before Christmas and my Pa was in Tevas (with tube socks, of course) and I was in my no beau no prob shirt. Nothing like new friends to keep life classy.

 

Like most parties with adults and children, the kids played downstairs while the adults drank and chatted upstairs. My ma and I noticed a bowl of nuts and were reminiscing about my grandpa. He loved to crack nuts and always had a big bowl of them next to him while he watched television. As we reminisced, one of the other guests, who was from China, grabbed the nutcracker and said, “I always want to know what it feel like to crack a nut.” Then she giggled, cracked the nut, popped it in her mouth, and said, “It feel and taste good.” More giggles. “I like her,” I told my ma.

 

As guests left, the homeowner would make a tutka (paper cone filled with candy) for each child. “Polish tradition,” he told us. Pretty soon, my sister and her kids said goodbye (to us and them), so it was just the homeowners, my parents and I, and the nutcracker and her family. As usual, this type of situation is not too unusual for me. I continued to enjoy the Crazy Christmas Punch with them while my parents, who are non-drinkers, enjoyed other beverages. After a bit, we also decided to head out. While making our way to the door, the homeowner yelled out, “Wait, let me make you a tutka.” Like the kids, I got a tutka – must have been the shirt. New traditions, new knowledge and new people in our lives who, no doubt, think we’re nuts.

It’s cold outside and, at times, pretty cold inside the furniture store. Thus, as I got dressed for work today, I decided to don two sweaters – a turtleneck layered with a wool, cardigan-type, multi-colored sweater. Within minutes of walking in, I received a compliment. “Nice sweater,” said one of the salesmen. “Thanks,” I replied.

 

As I walked through the store I noticed several other employees in sweaters. This didn’t surprise me because, as stated earlier, the store gets cold. After being there for a few hours I saw a really horrible sweater, and then another. In fact, the majority of the sweaters were rather ugly. “Wow,” I thought to myself. “Some of these guys have incredibly bad taste.”

 

Seeing these reminded me of the story Q shared about being at her husband’s work party and noticing someone in a tacky sweater. “What a great tacky Christmas sweater. I have to tell him,” she told her husband. He replied, “No, don’t do that. I don’t think that is a joke. He wears sweaters like that all of the time.”

 

About this time someone else complimented me on my sweater and another person said, “They never tell me when we are doing special days. I had no idea today was ugly sweater day.” “Serious? I wish I had known. I have a ton of tacky sweaters at home,” I told them. I then noticed them looking at my cardigan sweater. “Hey! This is a nice sweater,” I informed them and walked away.